Lego BB8
by RebelzHeart
Summary: Tony learns how to get help for his PTSD.
1. Chapter 1

Bruce finds Tony in the middle of the floor surrounded by Legos and he's pretty sure he that it says something about their relationship that Bruce doesn't even hesitate before plopping down next to Tony and starts reading over the instruction manual.

"What are you doing, Tones?" He sighs, skimming vaguely over the instructions and humming to himself.

Tony squints at the Lego box, and when he tilts his head, Bruce notices that there's a Lego BB8 on the front. "I'm trying to put this stupid thing together," Tony growls, and there's that tired way that his voice gets whenever he's overwhelmed. Bruce takes in the scattered pieces of Lego and then back at Tony, who looks like he's on the verge of crying, and sighs.

"You want help?" Bruce prods Tony with a finger, and it should say something that Tony doesn't bat at him or poke back, just shrugs and slumps over a bit, adding another piece of Lego to his growing shape.

"Whatever," Tony mumbles petulantly, and glances back at the picture on the box, frown deepening.

The corners of Bruce's mouth tighten and he clears away the spot in front of Tony before kneeling down in front of him and holding up a hand. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Tony snarls, his upper lip curling.

Bruce knows better than to take it personally by now. Knows enough about Tony's mood swings and how he acts when he hasn't slept in 15+ hours. "Yeah, okay, totally believable," Bruce rolls his eyes, "Seriously, Tony."

Tony pushes the Lego into his hand, edge turning his palms white, and shakes his head as he continues working on it, "It's _nothing_ , Bruce, fuck off."

Bruce narrows his eyes, "Don't make me get Rhodey."

"I'm fine, why won't you..." The Lego sinks into Tony's hand and some blood trickles down his wrist. Tony stares at it for a moment before he flinches and drops it, lowering his hand to the floor.

"Yeah, right." Bruce raises an eyebrow, "Because that would totally happen to someone who's doing just peachy."

Tony shudders, "Sorry."

"You always are," Bruce remains unimpressed.

Tony stares at the Lego and his blood slowly drying out on the floor, "I need to get that cleaned," he mumbles.

"We need to get this _all_ cleaned," Bruce corrects Tony, "starting with your hand."

Tony gnaws on his lower lip, the way that he does whenever he's trying to focus but trying not to be too obvious about it. "We have peroxide on medical."

"We have peroxide in the bathroom," Bruce reminds Tony, "After that time when I got a papercut you stocked all the bathrooms with them, remember?"

"Dum-E did that," Tony lifts a shoulder.

"You programmed Dum-E to do that."

Tony nods absent-mindedly, not bothering to argue or anything that he does when he gets self-deprecating. Bruce isn't sure if that's a good thing or not. "Right. You're welcome?" He's trying to channel his arrogant side.

 _God_ , sometimes Bruce just wants to strangle Tony.

"Yes, thank you," Bruce stands up, "Come on, we're going to clean your hand. FRIDAY, can you get Dum-E or one of the bots to clean up the floor?"

"Of course, Dr. Banner," FRIDAY says.

Bruce nods and leads Tony to the bathroom, where, as he cleans Tony's hand, he interrogates him. "So, what was that all about?"

"Nothing, nothing, I just," Tony watches Bruce clean his hand with a disturbing amount of detachedness, "I wanted to get it right, is all."

"Mm-hm," Bruce makes the appropriately vague sounds that show that he's listening to Tony, "You always do. But that doesn't explain why you decided to use Legos as a weapon against your precious hands."

Tony hunches over, curling into himself, head lowered and shoulders rising to his ears, "It just wasn't working and I wanted it to work and... _Christ_ , I sound so stupid and crazy." Tony scrubs his free hand over his face, "It's so irrational. I just, I was so frustrated and it wasn't working and..."

He breathes, harsh, fast.

Bruce watches the way that Tony's brow creases, the way that his lips fold into a frown, and feels himself mirroring Tony's frustrated expression. "You've been spiralling."

Tony laughs a bit, "No, really?" It's teasing, light, and Bruce kind of hates that he finds it a bit amusing, Tony's sarcastic laughter.

"Be serious, Tony."

Tony sobers, and he frowns at his hands, "I fired my therapist."

"Why?"

"She made me feel stupid." Tony's fingers twitch like he wants to make a fist. "I'm not stupid."

Bruce hums, "Weren't you the one that told the kid that most people go through many therapists before they find one that they like?"

"But I liked her," Tony's forehead creases, "I thought that she was great."

"It's okay to change your mind, Tony."

"But I _liked_ her," Tony remains stubborn, refusing to change his mind, "It's not her fault, I was just..."

" _Tony_ ," Bruce cuts in sharply, "People change. You don't have to like someone for them to be valid. It's okay to want someone else. You're literally paying your therapist to make you feel better, if she makes you feel bad, it just means that you don't work. It's neither your fault nor hers, it just means that you don't click."

Tony keeps chewing on his lower lip, "Okay," he mumbles, and Bruce wonders why it feels like Tony's a million miles away when he's literally sitting right in front of him. "Thanks, Bruce."

"Don't thank me for doing nothing," Bruce grumbles as he pulls out some band-aids. "Mickey Mouse or Spider-man?"

"Spider-man," Tony says absentmindedly, and he smiles a bit like just the name makes him fond.

Bruce sticks the band-aid on Tony's hand. "We'll get a new therapist."

Tony fiddles with the band-aid, "I need to finish the Lego BB8." He mumbles.

Bruce rolls his eyes, "We'll finish it together, later."

Tony lowers his head as though he's been chastised, "You think that it's stupid."

"I think that you shouldn't prioritize a Lego structure over your own mental health," Bruce's voice comes out a bit sharper than he had intended, but he can't find it in himself to regret that. "And you would agree if you weren't lacking... what, 20 hours of sleep?"

"Eighteen," Tony mutters.

"Same difference," Bruce huffs.

"I'll take a nap later," Tony promises.

"Yeah, as in as soon as you change into your pyjamas."

"But the BB8..."

"...will be finished more efficiently if you were awake and in your right mind."

Tony twists the hem of his shirt, vulnerable in a way that Bruce hasn't seen him in a long time. "I don't like sleeping," he mumbles. "I keep dreaming of Titan and the kid just..." he spreads out his hand and Bruce knows what he means, sees in his mind the warriors of Wakanda withering away into ash, Wanda curled over Vision's body and then just gone, Sam withered alone somewhere, Steve's hands shaking as he says, _I lost him again_.

"He's fine, Tony," Bruce reminds Tony, "He came back with all the others when we reset reality."

"Yeah, but," Tony hugs himself, "I can't see him."

Maybe, Bruce reflects, this was why Tony kept leaving the tower. Kept staying away overnight, and comes back with stories about the Spider kids ridiculous new stunt. "So you've been dealing with this by... what, sleeping at his place?"

Tony shrugs, embarrassed.

Bruce sighs, "What did your therapist say?"

Tony scowls, "She asked if I had thought about talking to him about it."

"...And?"

Tony clears his throat and then says awkwardly, "I can't."

Bruce stares, disbelieving, "You _can't_? Tony, avoiding the topic isn't..."

"This isn't about _me_!" Tony's hackles rise, "The kid freaks out around _glitter_ , Bruce, how am I supposed to talk to him about my issues when his friends have given me a list of triggers specifically telling me to _never talk about Titan_? Talking to him about that would just be selfish, I can't do that to him, not when he's having trouble dealing with it and I've already..."

He trails off, and Bruce hears the unspoken ending.

 _When I've already dealt with this before_.

Because that was what this was about, wasn't it? Tony had dealt with PTSD after New York, after Afghanistan, after everything he's been through and he thinks that somehow that makes his messes, what, okay? Not a big deal?

Bruce hates this.

"Okay, so you can't talk to him," Bruce sighed, "But that doesn't invalidate you, okay?"

Tony shrugs, petulant, "I can deal with it."

Bruce locks his jaw, "You obviously can't since you cut your hand with a freaking _Lego_."

Tony glares at him, and then at his hand, and then he grumbles, "I'll go take a nap, okay? Will that make you happy?"

"I don't _know_ what will make me happy, Tony!" Bruce throws up his hands, "Do you? Do you know what will make _you_ happy, because I sure don't! I don't know how to deal with this, or you, or this mess of a situation and I can't..." He buries his hands in his scalp and shakes his head, "I think that we both need some sleep."

Tony scowls, "Yeah, okay."

He storms away, and as soon as he rounds the corner, Bruce catches him slumping and regrets not chasing after.

* * *

Tony wakes up to Pepper rearranging his schedule for next week on his holograms in front of him.

"You're using my technology against me," He grumbles, rolling off the couch and blinking when he notices the black and white knit blanket wrapped around him. "Where did _this_ come from?"

"May Parker has a lovely collection of blankets," Pepper hums as she moves his Thursday meeting to an earlier hour, "There's a plastic water bottle on the table in front of you. I'm expecting you to finish drinking it within the next half hour."

Tony squints at the water bottle. "Did Bruce put you up to this?"

Pepper raises an eyebrow, smooth and elegant. "I'm offended that you think that anyone could put me up to anything," she answers lightly. "I made three therapy appointments to let you test the waters for next week, you have one on Monday, Tuesday and Thursday after your board meeting."

Tony frowns and stretches, yawning a bit as his shoulders give a satisfying crack. "What would I do without you?"

"You don't want me to answer that question," Pepper answers shortly, a bit of a teasing smile playing on her lips. "We've both got the rest of the day free if you want to go on a date."

It feels a bit like she's diverting the conversation, but Tony plays along, "Depends, is it with you?"

Pepper's lips twitch into a small, amused smile, "And here I thought that you'd rather take Rhodey."

"Ah, of course," Tony wraps the blanket around his shoulders, "Have you got anything planned?"

Pepper shrugs, "Something nice, maybe take a walk, watch a movie..."

" _Pepper_ ," Tony whines, sidling up next to her and wrapping his arms around her waist, "Come on. Let's do something _exciting_ together."

She gently pats the top of his head, "You're not up for something exciting."

Tony puffs his cheeks out, "I totally am! We'll go totally risque, maybe go skydiving or to a bar or..."

"Tony," Pepper's voice is soft as a feather.

Tony falls silent, drops his chin on her shoulder and skims over his schedule, "I don't have anything after six?" He notes, vaguely surprised.

Pepper twists around in his arms to give him a small peck to the nose, "This is me trying to get you to sleep at some decent hours instead of staying up to who knows when trying to do who knows what."

Tony wrinkles his nose at her, "It's not going to work," he warns her, and Pepper shrugs.

"At least I'll have tried," she presses her forehead against his. "Bruce said that you were putting together a Lego BB8?"

"Yeah, well..." Tony holds up his hand, presses it against Pepper's nose, and shrugs. "You see how well that went."

Pepper pulls Tony's hand off of her face, "I'll help you work on it later," she promises, "Five minutes have passed, and..." she glances at the water bottle, "You haven't drunk any of your water."

" _Pepper,_ " Tony whines.

"Tony," She mimics.

He huffs and sighs, "What if we go on a date?"

"Still need you to finish your water," Pepper's voice turns scolding, "It's basic self-care, Tony."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony sighs, "A movie, you said?"

"If that's what you want," Pepper agrees lightly. "I'm a bit in the mood for Treasure Planet, but it's completely up to you."

"Yeah, well," Tony shrugs, "If that's what you want."

Pepper raises an eyebrow, "What do _you_ want?"

Tony lowers his eyes, "How am I supposed to know?"

Pepper touches a hand to his cheek and tilts her head to the side, "Talk to someone," she advises.

Tony rolls his eyes, "That's so cliche."

"It's a cliche because it _works_."

"That's also super cliche."

The wisp of a smile ghosts Pepper's lips, "You know what's also a cliche?"

"What?"

She kisses him, light and chaste, and then pulls away, "Romantic, hm?"

"Very," he grins, "Do I get more kisses if I tease you?"

Pepper pretends to think about it, "No."

"Aw," Tony pouts, "How do I get more?"

"Finish your water," Pepper dismisses the holograms, "And then we'll see."

* * *

"There's nothing to do," Tony tells Peter's therapist, hanging upside down from his chair, "I know that it sounds stupid, but it's true. There's always something to do, a bad guy to defeat, a threat to come, except this time..." he frowns at the therapist's sneakers, "There's nothing. I feel useless."

"Useless or stagnant?" The therapist asks. His nameplate isn't the most professional, a scribbled _Fengchi_ with some marker on a piece of cardboard. Tony kind of likes it, it feels really relaxed. Like the therapist doesn't care about looking cool so long as he helps his patients. Tony can respect that.

Tony chews on his lower lip, "Stagnant," he decides, "I feel like I'm about to explode."

"Relateable," Fengchi twirled a pencil between his fingers, "I have a lot of patients who tend to degrade when they're not actively learning or growing. Most of them take up something new, like learning how to play an instrument or a new language. Then they get to learn something new _and_ don't grow stagnant."

Tony watched the pencil wind it's way between Fengchi's fingers, and clasped his arms over his stomach. "So your advice is to take up the piano?"

Fengchi laughed at Tony, "If that's what you want to take out of this conversation, then okay. Take up the piano."

Tony groaned, "What _do_ you mean?"

"I'm not giving you some instruction manual on how to live your life, Tony," Fengchi shrugged, "I'm just saying that this is what other patients did. You've got to figure it out for yourself."

Tony pouts, "But that's what I pay _you_ to do!"

"No," Fengchi laughs, "You pay me to help you develop a positive mindset that helps your mental health stay healthy, even when I'm not around to support you."

"Boo," Tony says halfheartedly.

"Would you like to learn a new language?" Fengchi raises an eyebrow, "Or an instrument? Would you rather build a new and improved Iron Man suit? Or if you need to feel like a hero, would you rather work in a soup kitchen?"

Tony flinches at that last one, "I don't need to feel like a hero," he mutters, but the nervous fingers tapping at his legs say otherwise.

"Right," Fengchi leans back, "It's okay. Spider-man needs to help, no matter how significant the help may seem to others. Even if it's just cleaning up someone's juice when they spill, it makes him feel happy. If you're the same, it's fine."

"It's not," Tony flips right side up, and folds his hands in his lap. "It's not that. I don't... I don't help people like that, not because I'm like the kid. He does it because he's kind and because that's what he does, I do it because I have to."

Fengchi raises an eyebrow. "You feel like you have to?"

Tony plays with his arc reactor. "Stark Industries has built weapons since the second world war," he traces the edges of the arc reactor, "For decades, my family built our empire upon war and _death_. We didn't care who was hurt or who died in fear, who died seeing the word _Stark_ on a missile, who flinched upon seeing my name so long as we got money. We sent bombs to villages, to blow up children and heroes and villains without discrimination and where we prided ourselves on making weapons that never failed, parents hid their children in closets and prayed that the one in their home would be the one to fail. To not work. To not blow them up or kill their children." His hands dropped, "That's on me."

Fengchi shakes his head, "It's not."

"I was praised as an _innovator_ for making bombs that blew up larger and larger areas," Tony snarls, "I live on an empire built on death and destruction, how can that not be my fault?"

"Because _you_ aren't!" Fengchi stopped twirling his pencil and it fell back onto his desk. "Because _you_ built an empire on clean energy and fuel efficiency and you built the suit that saved our world from an alien invasion!"

"I built a robot that flew a _city in the air_! That killed hundreds of people!"

"You also _stopped_ it and made a new _hero_."

"No, it was _my fault_ , it should never have..."

"So you signed the accords because you wanted someone responsible to help..."

"And that blew up in my face!"

"But you _tried_!" Fengchi stops. Sighs. Buries his face in his hands. "Tony, I don't know if you know this, but there are _millions_ of children who absolutely _idolize_ you. Because you saved a city of people and because you stopped an alien from destroying their home and because you stopped Thanos and brought back _half_ _the world_. I don't care what you did before. I don't care if you were _Hitler_ before. Because right now, you're doing amazing things. You're changing the world for the better, you're helping everyone you can, do you think that people can't _see that_?"

Tony gaped.

Fengchi sighed. "Talk to Spider-man," he waved a hand, "the kid idolizes you. He thinks that you're even better than sliced bread."

Tony keeps gaping.

Fengchi peeked at him from behind his hand, "I'm fired, aren't I?"


	2. Chapter 2

Tony's spiralling.

He knows it, Bruce knows it, Pepper knows it, everyone except the media knows it, which, he supposes, just means everyone in his close circle of people, which, most definitely, is way too many people, because if even his _therapist_ knows it, then Tony's just done for. Stupid-o. Spiralled way out of control. _Desisted_. (There's a fancy word. He learned it from one of Peter's little friends, the one with the sharp tongue and the curious eyes.)

His hands shake when he goes to bed, trying to change out of his clothes with fumbling fingers and a deliberately slowed breath.

"You seem to be having some difficulty changing, sir," FRIDAY notes. There's no contempt in her voice, something akin to worry but mostly it's calm. Cool. Like she's rattling off some stat, simplifying Tony to numbers, statistics on a sheet of paper. It comforts him, a bit, thinking of himself this way, like numbers on a screen or a graph drawn by mechanical fingers, precise and objective.

"I'm fine," Tony's voice comes out weak, shaky, and he hates himself for it. He hates himself for a lot of things, it seems. "It's okay, FRIDAY." He's comforting himself, he knows, FRIDAY isn't worried, FRIDAY is an AI, he's the weak one, the one who worries and fears, he's the one whose hands shakes and whose breath rattles in his chest like a children's toy, heart against ribcage like beans against wood in a maraca.

"If you say so," and Tony doesn't really regret it, programming FRIDAY to have that sort of sarcasm, but the words make his shoulders hitch up all the same. Great. Even FRIDAY has gotten to the point where she's become _sarcastic_ about his mess of... well, whatever it is.

He glances around.

His room, he supposes.

Tony's room is a complete mess, plates and cups and clothing and little bits of machinery everywhere. In one little corner is some lego, ripped apart in some fit of rage that Tony is too tired to remember.

It's seeped everywhere, through his bones and his skin and his blood, like a virus that he can't quite contain, an insect that he can hear but can't see. He's weary, a kind of weary that he doesn't remember having been before, where his hands shake but he's barely awake. Where his eyes are wide open, but he can barely register the fact that this is his room.

The shirt finally goes off, and his fingers don't quite seem to register that they're supposed to latch onto it, so the shirt just goes flying across the room and smashes against his dresser mirror and then it falls, perfectly, messily, _horribly_ , onto a plate of watermelon juice.

Tony stares at it.

He kind of wants to cry.

He laughs instead because hey. This is hilarious.

Okay.

Fine.

Maybe it's not.

Maybe Tony's just finally lost it, maybe he's finally gone nuts, because he's doubled over, laughing, at his shirt falling into a platter of watermelon.

Then it hits him like a truck, that his shirt is now soggy and gross and has sticky juice all over it and his brain registers what a mess his room is, with plates and cups and clothing and machinery and those stupid, stupid legos (pointlessly sitting in his corner, mocking him) and...

He just...

It's just...

His hands, Tony thinks numbly, are shaking like a leaf.

Heck, _he's_ probably shaking like a leaf.

Not that he'd know.

He's panicking.

"Ha," He laughs, a harsh, grating sound that sort of chokes out of his throat, sounding more forced than natural. "Ha, ha," and he's laughing, again, because he's kind of hysterical and maybe this is a thing? Laughing when he's supposed to be crying.

Dimly, he hears the door behind him click open and shut, and he turns around to see Pepper, immaculately dressed and looking heartbroken as she says, softly, " _Tony_."

"I'm a mess," He snickers.

She picks her way through his room, toeing over pieces of crumpled metal on the floor and a growing pile of books on physics, and eventually Pepper ends up in front of him, looking perfect even in that old Beatles shirt that he bought her (a cheesy yellow t-shirt with _here comes the sun_ in bright red cursive, Tony joking that it was his colours and Pepper kissing him on the cheek as she asked _am I your sun?_ ) and checkered black and white pyjama pants.

"If you wanted to see me shirtless," Tony goes on autopilot, tilting his head to the side and offering Pepper a cocky smirk as he runs a hand along her bicep, "You could have just asked. We're in the bedroom anyway, though, so I guess that it's a moot point."

He doesn't leer, doesn't have the energy to, and maybe that's what tips Pepper off because she just runs her fingers along the back of her neck and gives him that sad, sober look again.

"What do you say?" Tony wiggles his eyebrows, but he feels distinctly uncomfortable as Pepper cups a hand against his cheek, "You, me, a nice bed? We could have a lot of fun together."

"Your hands are shaking," Pepper doesn't rise to the bait, taking her hand off of his neck to touch his hands. Her hands are a constant, firm against his twitchy fingers.

"Me, personally, I like sleeping with girls at night," Tony continues, blithely, "I mean, I like having sex at any time, but at night is nice, too, I'm cool with any time, really. I'm hot, you're hot, it works out. And if you're up for it..."

"Did you take your medication?" Pepper wants to know.

Tony falls silent. He picks up her hand, kisses her fingers, light and chaste, and when she lowers her hand he doesn't resist. "I did," he shouldn't sound so whiny and childish, he hates that part of him, "It's not... it's not working."

"That's okay," Pepper says. Soft. Kind.

"I don't want to see my therapist," Tony says.

"Why?" Pepper asks patiently.

"I feel like I'm wasting my time," Tony mumbles.

Pepper tilts her head, "He's not helping you?"

"No. He is. I just." Tony shakes his head, frustrated, "I shouldn't need him. I shouldn't need a therapist. I should be okay by now, I should be better by now, I've been seeing therapists since _Afghanistan_ , if someone was going to fix me, I'd be fixed by now, I must be doing something wrong, I'm just wasting his time, I can handle this by myself, I don't need to waste his time when he's got real people with real problems and..."

" _Tony!_ " Pepper's voice is sharp, breaking into his tirade with a refusal to let him continue.

His breathing is harsh now, ugly and sharp and fast and he hates it, he hates that he's doing this, he feels manipulative and stupid, having a panic attack in front of her. _Why can't you handle it?_ he thinks as he sinks to the floor.

 _Why can't you stop it? Why can't you deal with it? Aren't you just tricking her into thinking it's worse than it is? You just want to be coddled. You just want her to pity you. You're just a liar, tricking her and messing with Pepper and you're just a stupid..._

He crumples up, knees drawn to the top of his head as he hides his face in his hands and tries to control his breath, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of metal under his foot and the scrape of the edge of the bed against his spine as Pepper presses a hand against his back and silently stays beside him.

She's far too kind for him.

"Tony," Pepper says quietly. Firmly. "I need you to raise your foot for me."

He'd rather not listen. He'd rather not acknowledge her, rather not acknowledge the outside world, not when he's here, in his little bubble of darkness where he's numb and in between, where he doesn't have to think about the real world and waking to the mess and having to somehow clean it all, would rather not think of how it sweeps over him like a Tsunami and how it scares him and...

" _Tony_ , the metal is cutting into your foot," Pepper's voice isn't alarmed in the way that Bruce's voice becomes, isn't panicked or fast, it's measured, careful, and Tony knows that this is her trying not to panic him.

It probably _should_ work, except for the fact that Tony is working with a quiet panic, a soft storm that clouds his mind and numbs his thoughts.

"I need you to raise your feet for me," Her CEO voice, brisk, commanding, no-nonsense.

Tony raises his feet.

She pulls the metal away and puts a pillow where the metal was.

"Put your feet on this, bottoms up, legs straight."

Tony complies.

"I'll be back," Pepper promises with a kiss to Tony's forehead and Tony hates this a bit, how she babies him, he feels pathetic and stupid, like a child faking an illness for a parent's attention.

"Okay," he says instead of voicing his thoughts, voice small.

She comes back with a bowl of water, a towel, and some disinfectant, and she helps to wash off the blood with such care that Tony, for the third time, feels like crying all over again.

"I can do it," Tony says, leaning forward to take the towel from her hand, but Pepper jerks her hand away and frowns at him.

"So can I," she says.

Tony doesn't quite know what to say to that, doesn't know how to say _but you don't need to_ or _but I don't deserve it_ without making her sad, so he stays silent.

When she's finished and has bandaged up his feet, Tony offers her a soft, "Thank you."

She smiles at him. No kisses to the cheek, no intimate touch, just says, "Go to sleep," and somehow this, her cleaning his bleeding feet in the middle of the night and pointing at his bed, somehow that is far more intimate than anything Tony can think of.

 _I love you_ , Tony wants to say.

Instead, he says, "I haven't changed into my pyjamas."

She laughs a bit. Sort of sadly. "That's okay," she says.

It isn't. There's a buzzing in the back of Tony's head that wants to scream _it's not no you don't understand it's not okay it's stupid and dumb and freakish and weird_ but Pepper loves him so much that she's willing to wash blood off of his feet and how can Tony not trust her on this when he trusts her with his life?

So he says _okay_.

Doesn't ask _are you sure_. Doesn't say _you're wrong_. Because he trusts Pepper, intimately, oddly, and so he thinks, _I don't need pyjamas._

He falls asleep in dress pants and without a shirt, and as the lights close and the door clicks shut, he might hear Pepper whisper _I love you_.

In the dark, at the moment between the closing of the door and when Pepper walks away, he might whisper back _I love you, too_.

* * *

"Mr. Stark!" The kid starts when Tony toes into the room, blinking as he quickly moves the pan forward to catch his falling pancake. "You should be asleep!"

"I smelled bacon?" Tony asks in lieu of answering. It doesn't come out quite so confident as he would want it to have been, but he supposes that it would have to do in way of greeting. "What are you doing here, kid?"

"Miss Potts said that it was okay," Peter blurts, which is both an answer and nowhere _near_ an answer.

"Pepper did?" Tony grunts, "Just because Pepper lets weird little kids break into my tower doesn't mean that I want you in my kitchen making... what are those, pancakes?"

"Blueberry."

"Gimme," Tony sticks a bite in his mouth, and when he's finished chewing it, continues, "Don't think that you can win me over with my favourite pancakes."

Peter grins, and Tony internally groans because of course.

He's _already_ been won over.

"I have bacon, too, in my attempts at seducing you," Peter says, "But no eggs, sorry."

"That's fine, eggs are gross anyway," Tony says dismissively, picking at his pancakes and being vaguely jealous that Peter can so easily make this anytime he wants while Tony is banned from his own kitchen.

(His. Own. Kitchen. He lights Peter's kitchen counter on fire _one time_ and he's never trusted again! So unfair.)

Peter gasps dramatically, "You don't like _eggs_?" He asks, horrified.

"They're gross," Tony wrinkles his nose and makes a vague gesture, wiggling his fingers, "They're all greasy and oily and it's weird because it tastes like oil but it also tastes kind of like something else and it's confusing. And they're scrambled and stuff! It's so weird."

"Are you talking about _scrambled eggs_?" Peter demands, making a hissing sound. "Where did you eat them?"

"Rhodey made them for me in college," Tony says a bit proudly, because oh yeah, he got the full college ride. (Actually, come to think of it, maybe that's not something to be proud of, after all, considering that he spent half of that time blackout drunk...)

Peter wrinkled his nose, "And Mr. Rhodes is a good cook?"

"No, he's awful," Tony laughs, "The only good thing that he can make is an eggplant... casserole... okay, kid, you make a point, make me some eggs."

"No way, Mr. Stark," Peter finishes the last of his pancakes and moves to the sink to start washing the pan. As soon as the cold water hits the pan, it starts to sibilate and steam flies up in huge, rolling waves of gray clouds. It's powerful and elegant. "I just made some bacon and pancakes for you, give me a break."

"But then what do I pay you for?" Tony pouts.

"You don't pay me for anything," Peter pokes the pan and deems it cool enough to start scrubbing with the sponge and soap. "You pay me because you love me."

"Lies," Tony hisses, leaning back from the counter and making a three-clawed symbol over his heart.

"Deny it all you want," Peter laughs, " _I_ know the truth."

"Don't kid yourself," Tony narrows his eyes and jabs his fork in Peter's general direction, "I only keep you around for the pancakes."

Peter slides a plate of pancakes onto the seat across from Tony and hops on, grinning as he reminds Tony, "And the bacon."

"And possibly the bacon," Tony concedes, reaching over to steal a bite of Peter's pancake.

Peter yelped. "You have your own!"

Tony hums a bit, pretending to think about it, "Well, yeah," he drawls, "but the stolen food tastes _so_ much better."

Peter makes a scandalized noise and draws his plate closer to himself.

Tony laughs at him.

When they finish their breakfast, Tony remembers that he's just wearing his robe (eggplant purple, covered in Batman symbols, but don't be fooled, it's a Batgirl themed robe, it just so happens that there are around 10 Batpeople running around in the comics) and his fuzzy slippers. "I might need to change," he admits, and Peter laughs.

"Just maybe," Peter agrees, light and teasing.

"Brat," Tony ruffles the top of Peter's head fondly.

"Yes, yes I am," Peter agrees cheerfully, "But you love me."

"Don't make me say it," Tony grumbles.

"You love me."

"No."

"You _adore_ me."

"No."

"So much love, you can hardly hold it all in."

"Lalala, can't hear you!"

"I love you too, Mr. Stark!"

"For Christ's sake, kid!" Tony grumbles as he closes his bedroom door and starts changing into his Star Wars themed pyjamas that Pepper bought for him as a joke gift, "I love you, too. Yeesh."

He can't see him, but Tony gets the distinct feeling that Peter is smirking at him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Why can't you just fucking _listen to me_?" Tony demands as he paces around the room, fingers running through his hair over and over, a nervous habit that he can't seem to break, one of many, too many, and he's not supposed to think of that, but maybe it's better than the hot white anger flooding through his veins, "I _told_ you to run away but he just had to stay like a fucking _hero_ and get yourself hurt and..."

"Tony," Rhodey frowns from his spot on the wheelchair, "I'm fine."

"You set back your surgery by getting shot _again_ and now your legs need even more therapy and if you had just left..."

"I don't regret..."

" _Shut up,_ why couldn't you have just..."

" _Tony_ ," Rhodey's voice turns harsh, stern, and Tony flinches instinctively, curling up and preparing his apologies even as Rhodey continues, "I know that you're worried. And that you're stressed, and injured, and still tired from the fight. But that doesn't give you an excuse to take it out on me, not like this."

Tony nods.

Swallows.

Tries not to crumble into a heap of limbs on the ground.

"I'm sorry," He's still angry, but the anger turns internal, a steady stream of _stupid idiot why does Rhodey even stay with you scumbag you're worthless how could you take it out on him like that you keep ruining everything_ and it's a bit hard but he manages to keep his voice steady, "It was wrong of me to take out my anger on you like that. I shouldn't have yelled or put the blame on you for doing what was right. I understand that I was in the wrong."

"Hey, man, it's fine," And Rhodey's voice turns a bit more teasing as he says, "You know, you don't have to be all stiff about it."

Tony scrunches up his nose, "My therapist has been trying to teach me more about communicating properly," he says in lieu of explanation and Rhodey nods knowingly.

"Ah," he says, smiling slightly, still looking a bit worried, "And how's that been working out for you?"

"Therapy?" Tony starts fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. He's always hated these crisp, clean white blouses. Too much room for a mess. Too easy to detect an error. But he has a board meeting soon and Pepper wouldn't let him get away with anything less than professional, "It's great. Awesome. Vomiting my feelings, as you know, has always been a dream of mine since I was a young boy, all the way back when my..." He cuts himself off. "You know, I was kind of expecting you to have cut me off by now or something." He laughs, "The damn therapist really _is_ getting to me."

"You're being honest," Rhodey shrugs, "That's a good thing."

Tony scowls. Undoes a button.

Buttons it again.

His fingers trace the arc reactor, the smooth, polished edge beneath the rough cotton (Pepper wanted silk, Tony wanted his pyjamas, they compromised) of his blouse. "What, not going to talk about how I deflect things and issues with my humour?"

"You've been doing that since Day 1," Rhodey laughs, "I hardly think that it requires commenting on now."

It's enough to startle a laugh out of Tony, though he's not quite sure why. It's not surprising or anything, classic Rhodey, really, who, to an extent, does the same, possibly from too much exposure to Tony. "True," he chortles. (That's a weird word. Chortles. It makes Tony think of the old, stiff men that he's going to meet at the board meeting. _Chortles_. Ugh. Can you get any posher than that? But he does it. Anyway. Tony's not posh, but he can fake it well enough. Anyway. He's off topic. Again. And Rhodey's giving him that funny look again.)

"I do not have a funny look," Rhodey sounds somewhat offended.

Tony knows better than to back off.

Or rather, he _doesn't_ know well enough to back off.

A side-effect of being a close friend.

"True, true," he taps his chin with a finger, faking thoughtfulness, "All your looks are pretty funny looking, eh?"

Rhodey narrows his eyes, "I may be in a wheelchair but I am still military trained."

"The wheelchair makes all the difference," Tony starts humming _Delicate_ by Taylor Swift.

(Okay, fine, not his best jab, but Rhodey also hates Taylor Swift so Tony gets double points for this one.)

Rhodey's left eye twitches, "I will not hesitate to castrate you."

"Ooh, so scary," Tony leans back and places a hand dramatically over his chest, "I'm quaking."

Rhodey looks conflicted between anger and being unimpressed. "You're lucky that I'm in the wheelchair," he sighs, giving in.

Tony shrugs, "I'm sure."

Rhodey groans, but seems too tired to keep going, "Okay, fine, you know what, I'll let you mother hen for a few minutes and then we're going to go check out some new fighting moves that I heard about from Sam, okay?"

Tony very carefully keeps his smile on tight, "Keeping the gossip line with info on Cap?" he teases, ignoring the lump in his throat.

"Didn't you _hear_?" Rhodey gasps, pretending to be scandalized (and if this is his way of helping Tony cope, his way of changing the subject and making sure that Tony is comfortable and giving him an out, well, that's nobody business but his), putting on a falsetto from some sort of 80's sitcom, "It's absolutely _scandalous_! I hear that the old men were out playing _bridge_ after _eight_! At _night_! Absolutely _horrifying_."

" _What_?" Tony plays along (because Tony is a coward and while part of him understands Steve and while he wants more with the man who draws his workshop, the man who apologized and accepted Tony's apology graciously, the one who admitted his faults and asked for discussion, while he does want that, he also wants to run from the man in Siberia, the man who put his shield on Tony's chest and who was a figure in his father's stories, the man who was impulsive and who didn't scare Tony but Tony would rather have avoided all the same), "How disreputable! In that neighbourhood, too," he clicks his tongue, ignoring the fact that they literally live in the Avenger's Compound, just across the hallway (they tried to avoid it, saying that it was disrespectful to Tony, but Tony would have none of it and they gave in after he sicced Pepper on them).

Rhodey and Tony banter a bit, playing gossipy old ladies and then moving on to other, equally lighthearted topics.

Rhodey doesn't mention Tony's anger or nervousness, and Tony doesn't mention the way that Rhodey pinches his legs just to make sure that he can still feel them or how he allows Tony to guide the conversation (this kindness, he won't forget, but he'll never mention).

Then Tony leaves to his workshop and Rhodey goes to find Sam to learn those new fighting moves.

They are careful.

(Maybe too careful.)

They are careful to stay comfortable.

(And maybe that's why the air feels so uneasy.)

* * *

"Hey, Aunt Hottie," Tony drops by unceremoniously in the Parker household (though calling it a household may be a bit of a stretch), the same way that he's been at least every other day ever since Thanos. He drops lunch on the coffee table in front of her (pork ribs and corn, classic summer food) and looks around, "The kid home from school yet?"

"Not yet," May offers him a wane smile, "Soon, though. You're welcome to read one of the books on the shelf."

"Sounds great," He smiles at her but pulls out his newest bit and bobble anyway, not moving to go get a book.

May sighs, clearly prepping herself to fight the losing battle, and says, "Peter got some books on medicine from the nearby University if you want to read those."

And Tony does want to read those, there's an itch beneath his skin and a longing to, he's planned on learning some things about medicine and he's mentioned it to Peter (damn it, kid, trapping him like this), he's even thought about going to University part time for it, but his manners kick in and he offers May a plastic smile and smooth, "Thank you for the offer, but I'll have to decline."

May sighs, "I suppose that you aren't interested, then?"

"No, of course not," Tony says quickly, "That's not it, May, not at all. It's just rude to..." He trails off. What is he supposed to say? It's rude to do what your host tells you to? How is he supposed to explain this?

May raises an eyebrow.

Tony gnaws on his lower lip, "It's rude to accept things from people," he settles on saying, playing with the bot's wires in his hands (and maybe that's a tell, the superspy duo keep telling him that, but his brain is too muddled to care at the moment).

May's eyebrow inches higher, "Oh, I see, so I was supposed to refuse the lunch that you brought Peter and me..."

"No, no," Tony says quickly. Loudly. He winces at his own voice, the volume, and quickly lowers it, "Sorry, that was loud. I mean, I brought it for you, it's meant for you to... oh, okay." He keeps his eyes on the wires, too nervous to look at May, now, "Right. Thank you."

May looks worried, "Where did all this politeness come from?"

Tony barks out a laugh, "I thought that I was _supposed_ to be polite. Set a good example for the kid and all."

May gets that scrunched up expression that she makes when she politely disagrees with something. "Mm-hm," she says, disbelievingly.

"It's just," Tony puts the wires in the right places and covers the wires with the metal plate again, "It's basic manners, right? Growing up, when you go to a friend's house or something, you know not to eat ice cream or accept any gifts, because it's rude."

"That's not rude," May frowns, "I always ate ice cream at my friends' houses."

"Oh, well," Tony clears his throat, "Maybe it was just a thing for business people or..."

" _Tony_ ," May sighs, that same, exasperated way that she speaks when she speaks to Peter after he comes home with some stupid injury or says something self-deprecating, "You don't need to validate yourself to me."

"Right," Tony twists and watches as his bot lights up bright blue, "I know that."

"That being said," May watches the bot for a few moments before her eyes drift back to Tony's face, eyes tracing his features, "I'm open to listening."

Tony turns the bot off, "I have a therapist for superhero stuff," he says.

"I'm not talking about superhero stuff," May says.

"Well, I don't really have any trauma other than superhero stuff, so," He grins at her, "You know. Nothing all that deep or important for me to say."

May hums, "I'm here, even for things that aren't that deep."

Tony squirms, "Okay."

Thankfully, (or maybe not so thankfully,) Peter returns at that moment.

But a few weeks later, Tony comes in and sits down, watching May make a cup of coffee with half-lidded eyes. "Still up for a talk?" He asks quietly.

May sets down a cup in front of him, steaming and warm and possibly with too much sugar (but that's why Tony loves it). "Always," she says, warm and kind.

"My dad never swore at me or anything," Tony traces a finger on the rim of his cup, "And it wasn't like I was abused or neglected or anything bad like that. He just got mad, and my brain's all messed up, so I got teary, alright? It wasn't like he was trying to scare me, just trying to make sure I was being polite and stuff..."

He talks about a dad who overcompensated by giving him everything he could ever want, who said _I love you_ and _this is for the best_ , who yelled at him when Tony broke rules that he had never known were there and called Tony a liar when he told the truth.

He talks about how once his dad went through his library books because he wanted to make sure Tony was reading "intelligent books" and not fantasy, talks about how he still won't read novels without locking the bathroom door and putting on shower sounds.

He talks about how lessons stuck after being told once, talks about how he was a bad kid and says his dad did nothing wrong even as May says _that's emotional abuse_ and Tony's voice shakes as he says _but I don't fit all the symptoms_ and looks at his empty coffee cup as he admits to having googled the symptoms and May angrily tells him that he needs to stop invalidating himself.

Tony apologizes.

May tells him to stop.

He's a loss for what to say or do, so she takes him for a day out in the city, looking at graffiti and buying little cakes in shops and showing him flower shops and bookstores hidden in the walls of the city.

It's kind, and comfortable, and Tony says a soft _thank you_ at the end.

"Yeah, well," May smiles, "I'm a parent, too."

She isn't parenting him. Doesn't need to.

She's just showing him kindness, and maybe that's enough.


	4. Chapter 4

"Let's go on a date," Tony says to Pepper, fiddling with his suit and tie. His movements are quick, smooth, brash and his fingers swing in wide movements, sweeping things as he stares at his fingers, very carefully avoiding looking at Pepper's eyes.

She smiles at him from behind her desk, stands up and moves over to him, where she loosens his tie and tilts her head to the side, "I assume that you don't mean to a board meeting?"

Tony goes red, fumbling with the tie, uncertain whether he ought to tighten it or take it off completely as he says, "Well, uh, my schedule said..."

"Your schedule's free," Pepper agrees patiently, casting a glance at her paperwork, "Mine is too, I'm just doing some of next week's work." She laughs when Tony makes a face, scrunched up nose and flat lips. "Don't worry, _you're_ not doing any of your work in advance."

"Thank god," Tony mutters, and glances at Pepper, "So that's a yes?"

She hums, playing with his collar a bit, flattening his hair, and then concedes, "There's this nice little 80's diner downtown. Jukebox, fairy lights, the whole shebang. Up your alley, hm?"

Tony beams, all of his nervousness has gone as he lights up, taking her hand in his as he says excitedly, "Yeah, Peps, that sounds great! You sure that you're up for it?"

She raises an eyebrow, "Am _I_ up for it?"

Tony smiles sheepishly, "Ah, how could I forget, you're up for anything."

"I'm dating you, aren't I?" Pepper presses a quick kiss on Tony's cheek, "Let's both change into something a bit more casual, and I'll meet you in the lobby?"

"Sounds like a dream," Tony says, a tad hazily, and Pepper laughs.

"You better thank god that it's not," She says, smile sharp and sweet, "I'm too perfect for your subconscious to think up."

"Truer words," Tony agrees, nodding.

It's very sweet, Pepper thinks as she changes into a cat t-shirt that Tony left in her office the other day (he had stained it with orange juice, the reason why he took it off, but it's dry and barely noticeable so she thinks that it'll just have to do) and the nice yoga pants that May gave her when she visited today (she had complimented May on her's, and May had asked _you want some?_ Pepper had laughed _I wish_ and May turned up earlier that morning with a bag of some of the cutest pants that Pepper had seen. It was such a shame that she could only wear them casually).

She doesn't look like much, she knows, despite her clean makeup and professional bun, but as soon as she steps out of her room Tony looks at her as though she's a sky full of stars.

"You look beautiful," Tony breathes, soft and sweet and so in love that it fills Pepper with unmeasurable fondness.

"Well, there's a reason why you dated me," Pepper says briskly instead of melting, "And that reason is that I'm a package deal. Brains, beauty, way more common sense than you..."

"I have common sense!" Tony protests, and at Pepper's skeptical stare, he amends, "I just don't use it."

"Same difference," Pepper brushes him off, and then kisses him on the cheek, "Come on, let's stop wasting time on semantics. You said that there was a diner downtown, let's head there."

"Okay," Tony says, that dopey smile back on his face, and Pepper laughs a bit.

"You look ridiculous," she feels the need to inform Tony.

Tony tries to leer, but he just looks too head over heels for it to work. "And you look amazing," He says, as though he knows that she doesn't need to hear it, but rather says it for his own sake because he just can't keep the words sealed in his lips any longer. "How did someone like you fall for a guy like me?"

"Great question," Pepper agrees, smiling a bit at Tony's _Steven Universe_ t-shirt. Peter's influence, she supposes, "Maybe I'm just a gold digger."

"Maybe I'm just really lucky."

Somehow Pepper doubts that what with everything that's happened in Tony's life, but it's a sweet sentiment and she's a bit caught up in the romantic tidal wave. "And here I thought that you weren't a romantic." His words, not hers.

This is the perfect time for Tony to make some lame pick up line, to wiggle his eyebrows and say something dumb like _I could be anything that you wanted me to be_. As it is, he just laughs, "I'm really not." It's a bit more straightforward and honest than she's used to, a bit more self-deprecating.

"Yeah, well," Pepper's been caught off guard, and it shows in her stunted vocabulary, "You could have fooled me."

"Ever the romantic," Tony bumps his nose against hers clumsily, but she finds that she can't mind. "Can you teach me to dance?"

"You already know how" Pepper reminds him.

"I'm not that good at it," Tony smiles.

Pepper rolls her eyes as they step into the diner. She's about to say something sarcastic or witty, something like _I think that you'll do fine, fancy shoes_ , but instead she takes a moment to just let the diner take her breath away.

It's lovely, red and white tiles and fairy lights strung up with faded leather booths against the walls. A chalkboard menu, a juke box, teenagers laughing over fancy glasses of milkshakes with whipped cream piled as high as the eye can see, topped with cherries and striped straws. It's not Pepper's style, not usually, but it's like something out of a fairy tale or an Audrey Hepburn movie and thus she can't help but fall in love, just a bit.

"Look okay?" Tony asks worriedly, sneaking up behind Pepper and wrapping his arms around her torso.

"It's perfect," Pepper breathes, turning around and smiling. "You know what would make it better?"

"Dancing?" Tony asks hopefully.

"If you did all your paperwork for next week." Pepper laughs at Tony's expression, "I'm kidding. I'd love to dance."

And they do.

The slow dance they do doesn't fit at all with the bouncy song playing, but it doesn't matter much, because all Pepper can think in that moment is _I'm in love_ and she can't find herself to mind much else.

* * *

Tony's hands feel numb, fingers worked to the bone as he screws through the robots, numb and detached.

He's breathing, he knows, but he can't quite keep track of his breath, it feels like he's in a bubble, numb and encased far from the land of the living.

"Hey, Tony," Bruce slides in the seat across from him, and a wide, cheery smile lights Tony's face.

"Brucie!" He grins, cheers, fingers staying on his screwdriver, stuck to work on the robot, glued to the metal. "What brings you here today? Or do I just get to bask in your glorious presence?"

It makes him feel a bit sick because he feels seconds away from throwing up because he _thinks_ that the smile is honest, he _thinks_ that he's happy to see Bruce, but he doesn't know for sure because his head is also running through the irrational thought of _how bad would it be if you just jumped off the roof_ and Tony feels fake for thinking that, when he's so obviously smiling, he's smiling so he must be fine but he doesn't feel fine he feels _wrong_ and it's just...

"No real reason," Bruce shrugs, smiling amicably at Tony. "Working on anything exciting?"

"Everything that I work on is exciting," Tony huffs, dramatic and haughty, arrogance dripping from his lips like honey from a comb.

"Mm-hm," Bruce smiles skeptically, good-naturedly, leaning in towards Tony, elbows on the table as he falls into the conversation with practiced ease, "And I suppose that this, too, works just like the Iron Man suit?"

"Great cheese sticks, _no_ ," Tony scoffs, and the words come to him so easily, like water off a waterfall, that he thinks _there's no way I'm feeling suicidal right now, I'm conversing with him so easily_ , " _This_ , my fellow genius, is an adorable, modified Ozobot that can also expand into a camera. Kind of like a Polaroid design if you just," He clicks the button and the robot slides out, stopping and clicking halfway through as the wires glitch and one of them falls off. Tony scowls and throws it across the room, "Nevermind, it was stupid."

It's childish, the way that he changes his mood so easily, and it almost gives him whiplash.

Bruce must have caught on as well, noticed that something's wrong because he reaches out and touches Tony's wrist, "Hey, man, it's fine, just because it doesn't work doesn't mean that..."

"It's fine," Tony shrugs, and there's got to be something wrong with him because he's _still_ smiling like some messed up AI that can't handle emotions right (maybe that's it, maybe he's a psychopath and that's why he ruins everything _wait no that's a bad line of thinking he needs to stop_ ), "I'm feeling like burgers. Are you feeling like burgers? I'll treat."

"I'm not hungry," Bruce says in that awkward, stilted way of his when he probably needs food in him but is too distracted to eat, "Tony, are you okay? You just threw the robot across the room, was it important or..."

"Just a side project," Tony brushes Bruce off with a disarming smile.

Bruce relaxes, "Oh, alright," He smiles tentatively, "I guess that it's alright, then?"

"No worries," Tony agrees emphatically, "Dum-E or someone will get it. I'll have to rebuild it anyway, no big deal."

They eat burgers, walking down the street and Tony laughs as they pass by a funny little booth on the street with costume masks. Tony picks up one and makes faces at Bruce, who laughs at all the appropriate times and makes hilarious jokes, and Tony laughs, too, ignoring the detached feeling in his head and the numbness in his chest.

It's a fantastic day. A great day.

He goofs off with Bruce, eats his daily quota of junk food, it's all great.

Except.

It's not?

"I don't know why," Tony admits as they sit together on the couch, rubbing his hands against his arms, "I just, I just don't feel right. I feel like jumping off a roof or something..." Bruce grabs Tony's arm, alarmed, but Tony can't find it in himself to care, he's too tired, "But I know, it's been such a good day, maybe I'm being stupid or faking it or just manipulating you by saying all these things or..."

"Tony, no," Bruce says, and Tony just shakes his head.

"I know, it's stupid, I'm valid, blah blah blah, it's just..." Tony huffs. Stares at his hands. Huh. When did they start shaking again? "What if I'm blowing everything way out of proportion? What if I'm exaggerating? What if you'd be better off without me or..."

Bruce is silent, though from the heartbroken expression on his features Tony can tell that he's just waiting for Tony to finish so that he can tell him how stupid he's being.

When Tony finally finishes, Bruce stays silent for a moment, staring at the arc reactor before his eyes find their way back to Tony's.

"I can't answer all of those questions," he says quietly, "And I get it. I do. But we need you to stay alive, and I think that you need you to stay alive, too. Look, there's a lot of reasons to live. Like sunsets or new robots or ice cream or..."

He keeps going, going until his voice cracks and the room turns dark because the sun's gone down. He drinks a glass of water, asks FRIDAY to turn on the lights, and keeps going. When he can't come up with little things, he tells Tony stories of when they were in trouble and Tony helped, when they felt down and Tony was there, tells him stories of why Bruce is friends with him and then lists more reasons to live, and he keeps going until they both fall asleep on the couch.

In the morning, when they wake, Bruce prepares to keep going, but Tony touches his arm.

"It's fine," Tony says. Hesitant. Soft. "I'll see my therapist. You don't have to be mine."

Bruce blinks for a moment, looking conflicted, and then he shrugs, "Can you make me pancakes?"

Tony winces, "I'm, uh, banned from the kitchen."


	5. Chapter 5

Tony feels sick.

Sick and gross and _wrong_ and he just...

He can't breathe.

Which, ha, is normal, but at the same time it's _wrongwrongwrong_ and there's a feeling in his chest like something's stuck there but he can't get it out and he wants to scream but he can't because his breath is caught in his throat and even though he _knows_ how irrational he's being, _knows_ how stupid it is, he just...

"I'm fine," He tells Peter, even as the kid wraps his arms around Tony and Tony has to fight the urge to judo flip the kid across to room, to summon his armour and blast a hole through his head because that's _wrong_ and Tony's _disgusting_ but the touch leads to an overwhelming, over-encompassing fear, "Just don't, don't touch me, okay, I'm on edge, I'm fine, I'm cool," except he's obviously _not_ and Tony hates himself for that as the kid immediately pulls away with wide, worried eyes.

"It's okay to not be okay," Peter reassures him, hand beneath Tony's, offering contact to ground him but very obviously letting Tony move as he so wishes.

He's good at this.

 _Too good_ , Tony personally thinks as he bends over and closes his eyes and tries not to vomit. "Great, thanks, kid," His voice sounds surprising normal for that Tony feels like he's ready to die, "Why don't you go to a fortune cookie factory and get that printed up nicely?"

"You're deflecting," Peter says, smart and quick, and Tony closes his eyes.

"When did you become my therapist?" He grunts even as his shoulders hitch up and he buries his face in his knees.

"I'm not your therapist," Peter sighs, "I just care about your wellbeing."

"Sounds like a therapist," Tony says.

"No, it doesn't," Peter says, softly, a bit sadly.

Tony doesn't apologize or do anything kind, he just hyperventilates into his knees and Peter stays because he is kind and brave and for some reason, he's willing to stay and watch someone who used to be his hero panic (but there's no way that Tony's his hero now, not when Peter's seen him shaking and struggling to breathe after reading some stupid news article, he's stupid, a complete idiot, just so dumb he can't even).

"It's not dumb," Peter says softly, "It's okay, Mr. Stark, you're still my number one hero," and Tony wants to ask _why_ but he can't because he doesn't think that he can talk properly at the moment.

Tony presses his face into Peter's shoulder, and he knows it's wrong, he's supposed to be the hero, the strong one, the support, but right now he _can't_ and he's _tired_ and Peter's skin is warm against his burning forehead.

"I'm right here," Peter says, softly, and Tony wonders if that's what he's afraid of.

He doesn't know anymore.

He's too lost in the haze of his broken breath and shaking hands.

 _Focus, Tony,_ he thinks numbly through the film of shuttered breath and hitched shoulders, _focus, you're freaking the kid out, you need to stop, stop, STOP_.

He's panicking again.

That's not good, Tony thinks, numbly, distantly.

"I don't understand," He mumbles into his knees. _You don't understand what?_ A voice asks in the back of his head, soft and kind and somewhere between Pepper's warm hands and Rhodey's concerned stare and Bruce's sharp grin. "Why, why this..."

His voice cuts off. Sharp. Like a knife just sliced through his words.

"You don't have to," the kid reassures him, and Tony's doing it again, detaching himself, calling him _the kid_ instead of _Peter_ , turning distant and cold and cutting ties for reasons that even he doesn't understand.

 _I want to understand, though_ , Tony thinks, childish and small, but instead his lips form a soft _okay_ and though he doesn't quite understand why he says it, somehow it rings with something akin to the truth.

"I never wanted _you_ to see me like this," Tony admits, the words harsh and condescending but the voice panicked and ashamed.

"There's nothing wrong with having a bad day," the kid... Peter... says.

Tony can feel his heart pounding against his chest, harsh and fast, like any moment it will break through his ribcage. "What about a bad life?" He chokes out, a poor attempt at a laugh spilling out of his lips.

"Nothing wrong with that, either," Peter says, so convinced that Tony believes him, "What's wrong is if you stay quiet and don't get help. What's wrong is when you dismiss it like it's not important, or when you think that you can handle it without seeing others for help."

Tony closes his eyes, "I'll never be as good as you, kid," he says quietly. Awed, maybe, but mostly tired, hating himself for reasons that he's too weary to list.

"At coping?" Peter smiles. It's a crooked, half-fledged thing, "Gosh, I hope that you can do better. I'm not the best with this mental health stuff."

Tony snorts, "Better than me."

"It's not a contest."

Tony bites his lower lip. Chews it a bit. "Okay," he mutters because he can't exactly argue with that.

"Okay," Peter repeats.

It's not.

It's really not.

Tony's panicking, Peter's at a bit of a loss for what to do, and when Tony's done it's very awkward.

But it's going to be.

Somehow, Tony thinks, a bit amused by the thought, (it's ridiculous and odd, but somehow it's true) this is going to be okay.

* * *

"I'm too hot."

"Hot damn."

"I would continue but," Rhodey flopped onto the floor, "I'm seriously just too hot for this right now."

"Perfectly understandable," Tony groaned from his spot in front of the air conditioner. "I'm ready to melt now."

"If you do," Rhodey moved his head to the side so that he could look at Tony, his ear squished between his head and the floor, "Move so that I still get to use the A/C."

"Dude," Tony grunted, offended.

Rhodey stared.

Tony conceded with a dip of his head, "Okay, fine, understandable," he groused. "Ice cream?"

"ETA is 10 minutes, sir," FRIDAY noted, a bit amused.

Ugh. _FRIDAY_ was an AI. _She_ didn't have to feel the evilness of the heat. It was completely unfair.

"We need to become AIs," Tony mumbled into the air conditioning vent, "So we don't feel the heat."

"Swell idea, Tones," Rhodey gave a half-hearted thumbs up, his hand propped up on the couch. "You go and get cracking on that right away, yeah?"

Tony, in his defence, made it all the way to the door before he ran back to the air conditioning. " _Nooo_ ," he moaned, "It's so hot in the hallway."

"For the sake of all, that's..." Rhodey paused, "Wait, the kid's not around. _Tones_ , for the sake of..." he let out an impressive string of curse words, "You're a freaking _billionaire_ , why is it that the compound feels like a sauna and not an igloo?"

"Because Pepper showed me World Vision, okay? There are these poor kids who don't have good homes and they live in the heat _all the time_ because they're in Africa so I sponsored some okay don't make me guilty for being a good person."

" _Tony_ ," Rhodey narrowed his eyes, "How many did you sponsor?"

Tony started whistling.

Oh yeah.

Not suspicious _at all_.

"Not that many," Tony was not looking at Rhodey, he was not looking, he was not...

"Look at me, Tony," Rhodey miraculously picked himself off of the floor with the power of sheer disbelief, "How. Many."

"Okay it's only like twenty but you've got to understand..."

Rhodey narrowed his eyes.

"Okay, so _maybe_ thirty but it's not..."

Rhodey started advancing forward.

"It's for a good cause!"

Rhodey shoved Tony away from the air conditioner. "I'm forgiving you," he grumbled, "Because it's for a good cause. But I get the A/C, because you've been hogging it for the past hour."

"Fair," Tony sighed, staying on the floor, "Wow, it's pretty cool down here..."

"I know, right?" Rhodey sighed contently as he shoved his face in front of the vent, "Now _this_ is nice."

"FRIDAY," Tony groaned, "How long until the ice cream arrives?"

"ETA 9 minutes," FRIDAY, evil AI that didn't feel heat that she was, was still incredibly amused.

"I'm going to _die_ ," Tony groaned.

"Go do it somewhere else," Rhodey closed his eyes, in bliss, "I've got the A/C."


	6. Chapter 6

Rhodey pops into Tony's room with a zillion cans of paint (okay, fine, _five_ ) and a wicked grin on his lips. "Time for me to paint your room," he crows, holding up an _awful_ shade of bright grey. (Bright! Grey! Tony didn't even think that was _possible_ , let alone be so _hideous_.)

"Oh _no_ ," Tony laughs, nervously, from his spot on the ground trying to put together his Lego BB8, "Nah, nope, no thanks," He puts down the pieces and presses his hands against the floor. He's fine. Normal. Totally A-okay.

"You know, when you say stuff like 'I'm fine', most people take it as a 'you're not fine' type thing?" Rhodey asked conversationally.

Oops.

"I said that out loud?" Tony offered a crooked grin.

Rhodey set down his paint cans. "Yeah. Man, too bad, I was totally going to make your room the _ugliest_ colour."

"Maybe it's a good thing, then," Tony laughed, "I have a bad day, don't touch my room."

"Okay, man," Rhodey reacts softly, and that grates a bit, Tony will admit.

"I'm fine," He says, "I was joking."

Rhodey keeps the paint cans down anyway, "Coco came out on Netflix," he says, putting his hands in his pockets, staying a few feet from the doorway. Close enough not to invade Tony, far enough that Tony can run out the door past him. Rhodey has always been good at making Tony feel safe, though the thought makes his stomach churn because he knows that this is a calculated area that Rhodey stands in, and Tony hates that Rhodey has to do something like _calculating_ how far from the door he'll stand. "You planning on watching it with the kid?"

"Maybe," Tony keeps his eyes lowered, "I dunno."

"I heard that it's a good movie," Rhodey offers.

Tony shrugs, "It's Disney. A bit touchy-feely, don't you think?"

"Didn't you have a Dora watch once?" Rhodey raised an eyebrow.

"It was limited edition," Tony grumbles, and Rhodey's face remains soft, sweet.

Tony hasn't decided whether or not he likes that expression yet.

"Why, you offering?" He asks instead of commenting on Rhodey's expression (because that's odd, it's weird, he's not supposed to concentrate on things like that). Tony offers the sleaziest smile that he can muster, crooked lips and full teeth.

"Don't make that face with me," Rhodey sighs, and the smile falls, and Tony, feeling oddly bare without it. "If you want to watch it with me, sure. I'm always up for some feel good, everything's perfect type movies."

Tony laughs a bit, and he wants to tease Rhodey but the words are stuck on his lips. They all wanted an everything's perfect type movie, especially after... well, everything. "I guess," he says it lightly, carelessly, dangling the offer from his fingers, ready to laugh _joke_ if Rhodey says _no_.

Not that he would.

This is Rhodey, after all.

"I've got some ice cream," Rhodey offers a lift of his shoulder, an upward tug of his lips.

Tony blinks, "You got some yesterday?"

"FRIDAY told me that you ate a bucket?" Rhodey frowns disapprovingly, but there's no heat in his glare, "That's not very healthy, you know."

Tony stretches, his lego pieces falling from his fingers and he frowns guiltily for not finishing (not like he would have finished it, anyway, he never finishes, he's always too angry), "Neither is insomnia," he grins, "But what do you know."

"Why are you like this," Rhodey sighs.

"You love me," Tony says, standing up and dusting himself off. He shuffles his way through the mess of his floor to Rhodey, and drapes himself over Rhodey's shoulder, "Movie, ice cream? Sounds like a great date night."

"For me?" Rhodey bats his eyelashes, presses a hand to his chest, playing along for a faint, fleeting moment. "You shouldn't have."

"Then I won't," Tony's smile widens, "I'll eat all the ice cream myself."

Rhodey rolls his eyes and pushes Tony off his shoulder lightly, "We should clean your room," he remarks.

Tony pouts, "But Rhodey, baby, weren't we gonna have some fun?"

"Don't do that," Rhodey smiled a bit, though. "Seriously, Tony. When was the last time that you cleaned your room?"

Tony scrunches up his nose, "When was the last time that Bruce was here?"

"You know that you can ask us for help cleaning your room," Rhodey sighs.

"I could also just, I dunno," Tony makes a vague, flopping gesture with his hand, "You know, just, _not_ clean it. That would be even nicer, yeah? I don't clean, you don't clean, nobody has to clean and my room is totally fine."

Rhodey gives him that sad look that he gives him whenever Tony's spiralling, and Tony fights down the urge to deck him in the face. He doesn't need that expression, that wounded concern that makes his insides curl and his chest _twing_ s like he's a guitar, being played by whoever can make him smile. "Coco and ice cream today," he says, steering Tony out the door, "And then tomorrow, we'll clean your room, yeah?"

"Do we _have to_?" Tony whines.

"Yes."

Tony sighs, and they go to watch Coco.

And it's great.

It's amazing.

Rhodey eats Reese's ice cream and Tony eats skittles that he stuck in a blender with some skittles, and it's a bit too much sugar but Tony loves it and he refuses to do anything else. Coco's music is brilliant, it's animation is brilliant, he loves it, and then...

And then the old man fades into golden dust and Hector watches with sad, sad eyes that say everything ( _he can't stop it he knows that he can't stop it but he wishes he wishes so much_ ) and Miguel stares with wide eyes and demands _what was that_ in a shaking voice and Tony is _gone_.

He's hyperventilating into his waffle cone and Rhodey says _shit_ and Tony says _fuck, fuck, fuck_ and it's suddenly not okay anymore and the picturesque moment is ruined because of Tony's stupid mental health and he hates it and it's all messed up and...

It's just...

"This was a bad idea," Rhodey says, and Tony mumbles, _gotta finish the movie_. "Are you kidding?" Rhodey demands, pressing a hand to Tony's arm, "Tony, you're having a..."

"I know what I'm having!" Tony's voice rings in his ears, loud and shrill and _wrong_ , but, "I want to finish it."

The hand never leaves his arm, and though Tony hates being touched, it's comforting.

Grounding.

"You're crazy," Rhodey mumbles, but he unpauses the movie.

"Yeah, well," Tony laughs a bit breathlessly, "That's alright."

Somewhere between the music contest and Coco shouting _all you care about is yourself_ (and doesn't that hurt, the wide-eyed panic in Hector's eyes as Tony thinks _the fuck, kid, you're going to kill him_ ), Tony relaxes.

It's back to ice cream and movie and he murmurs, "I'm fine," into Rhodey's neck and Rhodey hums as though he believes him, not the disbelieving hum that he usually makes when Tony says stuff like that but an odd, content type.

"I bet a hundred bucks that Hector is actually his great-great-grandfather," Rhodey says to Tony.

"Do I look stupid?" Tony snorts.

They finish the movie and they sit as the credits roll, soft and still and content for a moment before Rhodey reaches to give the movie a thumbs up and the spell almost breaks, except it's still there, the spell still lies, peaceful and soft.

"This was good," Tony says, smiling at Rhodey.

"Yeah," Rhodey grins back, "You up for pizza?"

"I was kind of feeling like burgers, actually," Tony stretches, "Pizza for you, burger for me?"

"Sounds like a plan," Rhodey says, and it is.

(As they eat and laugh and joke, it's easy to forget about shaking hands and hitched breathing, it's easy to smile and grin as though it costs nothing. Maybe, Tony thinks, it doesn't.)

* * *

Tony wakes to dust lit by the sun and the distinctly warm feeling that his (occasionally overpowered) AC would never allow. It's a feeling of comfort and familiarity, and it barely takes him a moment to identify the lined, rough throw pillow beneath his cheek and the light (soft, cotton, not silk) blanket over him.

If he couldn't identify already, the spreadsheets and textbooks on the coffee table and the fritzy, ancient TV across from his face gives it away.

"You're up already?" May's voice comes from behind him when Tony gets up and smooths out his shirt (gray, old, _Metallica_ scrawled across his chest in bold red with some fabric paint forming a flower below... someone's prank, though he can't quite recall who), glancing down. "It's pretty early."

"I should get going," Tony says brusquely, and May laughs.

"You got somewhere to be?" She asks lightly.

Tony traces his fingers on the edge of the sofa, the pads of his fingertips bumping over the knit cloth. "Not particularly," he answers, equally light.

"Then stay," May opens the freezer, "We've got waffles."

"The kid still asleep?" Tony asks instead of making any promises.

May raises an eyebrow, "It's eight."

"Ah." Awake, then. Doing who knows what in his bedroom. Tony rubs the back of his neck and allows, "I suppose I can't just walk out now, then." to slip his lips.

Ah.

Tony wonders when _this_ became a habit. When soft gazes and familiar touches became the norm.

It scares him a bit because there's always that tension, that anxiety sitting in the back of his throat, buzzing in his chest, the question of _when will it be gone?_ Because it always is, it always vanishes, somewhere, somehow, this rug is going to be jerked from under his feet and Tony will be wholly unprepared.

"Oh god," Tony mutters, and pulls a horrified face ( _not afraid_ , he reminds himself _, uncaring, light, far away_ ), "I'm getting attached."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," May teases him.

Tony stares at the toaster, and he can't quite find it in himself to muster up a smile, "Isn't it?" he murmurs, and that's too much information, he's not supposed to say things like that, but there's always something about the Parkers that lowers his guard (the Parkers, now, along with Pepper, Rhodey and Bruce... that's _five_ people, five too many, and yet Tony likes it like this, selfishly, childishly, likes his life this way).

"Do we make you happy?" May asks quietly. It's a rhetorical question, but Tony takes time to think of it instead of spitting out the answer on his tongue.

It's the same answer, despite his moment of thought.

"Always," his voice is a whisper, a crack, a breath in the wind, and it's so vulnerable at that moment that Tony is tempted to do something rash just to remember that he's not _soft_. (Maybe he is. Maybe Pepper, with her kisses, and Rhodey, with his teasing, and Bruce, with his sarcastic barbs, and Peter, with his childish innocence, and May, with something as simple as frozen waffles, have all smoothed him down, worn him until he's forgotten the importance of masks and empty smiles.)

"Then how could it be a bad thing?" May wonders out loud.

Tony stares at the toaster. Back at May. To his hands. To the waffles.

He takes in the apartment, small and thinks _how could I have ever looked down on this?_ It's small, but a home like this, small and cozy, not so big that you might never see your father, so small that bumping into each other was inevitable, something like this... this was all that Tony had wanted.

( _What would Pepper say,_ he muses, _if we lived somewhere small?_ Though they do. The Avengers Compound, for all it's apparent vastness, is not so large. Not so grand. It's hard to avoid the others, and Tony knows this now more than ever when he catches sight of Steve each morning and ducks behind doors to hide from anything resembling a conversation.)

"I guess not," Tony sighs.

Laughs a bit.

He feels ridiculous.

(Maybe the rug will be pulled out from under him. Maybe one day, this memory will make him cry. But right now, in the comfort of the small apartment, with frozen waffles and people who make him unafraid to be honest... he can't bear himself to tear himself away. He wants to stay here, here and now.

And so, he does.)


	7. Chapter 7

There are things that stick with Tony from when he was younger.

There aren't many obvious little habits (though Rhodey supposes, one could say that everything that Tony stems a bit from his past, in one way or another), but Tony has some. Little, minute habits that bleed from back when Howard was alive, staining Tony's actions.

Like now.

Tony nervously tapping his fingers once he's finished wiping down the counter ( _and packing up the food and washing the dishes and wiping the stove_ ) and his eyes flicker to Rhodey and back to his fingers.

"You don't have to wait up, man," Rhodey says, smiling a bit, "I'll finish and find you, okay?"

"No, ah," Tony glances at Rhodey's food, "It's fine."

Rhodey raises an eyebrow, "Are you worried that there are going to be leftovers? No worries, man, I'll finish it up. In the army, remember?"

"Yeah, of course," Tony says quickly.

Nervously.

Rhodey puts down his fork and raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, I didn't want to have to do this, but it looks like we're going to have to have a heart-to-heart if you're going to keep acting like this."

"I'm _fine_."

"Mm-hm," the eyebrow inches higher, "And that's why your voice is an octave higher than usual?"

"It is _not_!" Tony flushes. His eyes flicker to Rhodey and back to the plate, "Look, I'll just, I'll just wait for you, okay? And when you're finished, I'll wash your plate and we'll be fine."

Rhodey frowns, "My _plate_? You're worried about my _plate_ not getting _washed_?"

" _No_ ," Tony says loudly.

A bit desperately.

Rhodey stares at Tony's fingers, tapping on the back of the chair, nervous, fluttering about, fingers shaking like a twelve-year-old's at a piano recital. _Oh_ , he thinks, quietly. He doesn't figure out where, exactly, it's from, Tony's been through a lot (starting with Howard to Afghanistan to Thanos' fingers as they _snap_ ), and Rhodey doesn't need to guess at specifics to know that it stems from something bad.

"It's okay," he says, quietly. Softly. "I'll wash my plate. You don't have to worry about it."

"Okay," Tony grins at Rhodey, crooked in a sad pretense of arrogance. "No biggie."

He's still nervous.

Rhodey plays with his food, and he hates himself for it (because Tony looks more nervous than ever, his eyes rushing Rhodey to just _finish already_ ) but he thinks that he's lost his appetite.

"Look, man," Rhodey sighs, rubbing a hand around the back of his neck, "You can wash it if you seriously want to. But we can honestly just shove everything in a dishwasher and it'll be fine, yeah?"

"Dishwashers don't do a thorough job," Tony mumbles, even though he _himself_ had custom made his dishwasher to do a thorough job.

Rhodey gnaws on his lower lip. He isn't quite sure what to do in this kind of situation. "I won't fight you on this," he says quietly, "But if you're alright with it, we can sort this out. Washing the dishes by hand every meal isn't exactly the most convenient way to go about things."

There's that familiar twist to Tony's lips, unhappy and stubborn like he intellectually understands this (maybe has even tried to stop doing it) but emotionally is too stubborn to agree (though it's not through his own intellect, it's through some outside influence, Rhodey is sure of that). "Yeah," he says wearily instead of fighting with Rhodey on this. He runs a hand through his hair, "That's fine."

His Adam's apple bobs and Rhodey has to quell down the instinctive bark of _liar_ because this is _good_ , this is what they _want_ , Tony being open and honest with his feelings.

"I see that you've been talking to your therapist," Rhodey says.

Tony smiles a bit.

"Is it so obvious?"

Rhodey shrugs. Shakes his hand from side to side, "Just a little. It's a good thing, though. Keep it up. It's a lot healthier than before."

Tony beams, a bit bashful, a bit proud.

"I know," he says, and he sounds like a child who's won some sort of prize and is showing it off.

Rhodey finishes and Tony takes the plate.

Rhodey considers holding onto it, considers saying _I got it_ , but he doesn't know how Tony would react to that so he does nothing, just stands up and leans against the counter as Tony makes his way to the sink and soaps the sponge.

When he finishes washing Rhodey's dishes, Tony scans the kitchen. "Anything else?" he asks.

Rhodey shakes his head.

Tony glances up, "JARVIS?"

"Nothing else, sir," JARVIS answers.

Tony nods. Wipes his hands. Stares at them a bit. Turns back to Rhodey, something self-conscious to the way that he holds himself, none of the typical bravado that he holds in front of him as a familiar mask.

"I missed something once," he says quietly. Self-consciously. (The word keeps coming back to Rhodey's head, over and over, and maybe it's because he's just not used to Tony being so open but he wonders if it's maybe also because it _bleeds_ out, pours from every bit of Tony's posture.) "A cutting board and a knife. They were right by the sink but I was just concentrating on washing my own dishes that I forgot to look around. Howard..." (Tony called him _dad_ once, an experiment, and he spat out the word like it was flavourless gum) "...drove me to my piano lessons. I thanked him for the ride, he smiled at me, he was in a good mood, had been for a month or two, and I was fine..." (should Rhodey feel this sense foreboding? This little worry in his gut building up in anticipation?) "...and then when I was changing to go to bed he burst into my room and demanded why I hadn't just washed them and I said that I didn't see them and..." his breath hitches.

Rhodey wants to hear the end of this.

Desperately so.

He wants to be able to help Tony.

But there's this scared look on Tony's face, and the words bubble out like he can't stop them, spilling from his lips like a waterfall and there's this wide-eyed, glassy look on his face that Rhodey thinks shouldn't be there.

"You don't have to tell me this," Rhodey says.

"You deserve an explanation."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I was acting weird, I was being..."

"...you're coping with PTSD, Tony..."

"This isn't _involved_ , I was a kid, it's _stupid_..."

"What's to say it isn't CPTSD? Emotional abuse..."

" _Christ_ ," Tony laughs humourlessly, " _Emotional abuse_ like I'm some kid who cries and that's abuse somehow..."

A few swear words slip out before Rhodey can fully register the anger flaring up in his chest, (why does he always do this, why does Tony always dismiss his feelings like they're nothing?) "That's not it and you _know it_ , Tones."

"I hate it when you say that, it's not like I got hit or anything..."

"That's a fucking low bar and you _know it."_

 _"_ Yeah, well, I don't recall asking for your opinion," Tony snarls.

Rhodey shakes his head, "We're friends."

Tony looks like he wants to vomit. "I know," he chokes out.

Rhodey chews on his lower lip (he ignores the screaming in his head _it's dangerous it's a tell you could bite through it if someone surprised you it's dangerous bad don't do that_ because he's not a soldier, not now, right now, he's with Tony, clever Tony who shouldn't but takes everything as anger if it's not obviously otherwise so Rhodey needs to broadcast that he's a bit lost on what to do because it'll put Tony, who wants to know that Rhodey's not mad, at ease), unsure of what to say.

"We don't have to talk about this," He says.

"I," Tony looks conflicted, but he settles on, "I want to. Just maybe not..." he glances around the kitchen and it looks nothing like his old one, but it's a kitchen nonetheless and the very room brings up bad memories, "Just maybe not here."

"That's fine," Rhodey breathes. "That's great. Really. Good idea."

Tony smiles a little, halfheartedly, as though he knows what Rhodey's doing (which would be pretty cool seeing as even Rhodey isn't quite sure what Rhodey's doing). "My room?" he asks.

They make their way to Tony's room, with its gold and red colour scheme (of course, the narcissist), a huge _Spider-man_ poster (the kid had literally _flipped_ when he saw it, excitedly babbling in wide-eyed wonder as Tony casually admitted to having it commissioned) on the wall, robots and Legos and for once it's clean (because he and Rhodey and Pepper and Bruce had tackled the monster yesterday).

Rhodey sits on the spinny chair and Tony pouts but takes the window seat.

They sit in silence for a moment, drinking in each other's presence, and then Tony says quietly, "He didn't believe me."

Rhodey bites back the urge to say _bastard_. He doesn't need to ask who, Tony moves on from where he left off with relative ease, all things considered.

"I really didn't see it," there's something desperate to Tony's voice, begging Rhodey to believe him (of course he does, Tony wouldn't lie about that, he wouldn't lie to _Howard,_ period), "But he said _you're old enough to know better_ and then he didn't yell, just had this tight, angry voice, and he went to the door of my room and I thought..." his voice cracks a bit, and Tony looks out the window. He doesn't need to finish the sentence. "Yeah. Anyway. I thought that was the end of it, but he just kept going and going until I started crying and then he yelled at me for crying and I was..." his shoulders hitch up, "I was so relieved. He was yelling at me, which meant it was going to be over soon, it wasn't going to keep building up because he was exploding and... _fuck_ , what's wrong with me?"

"It wasn't you," Rhodey hears himself say distantly. "You know that it was all on him."

"If I had just _looked_..."

"Don't victim blame, Tony."

Tony's mouth snaps shut. Rhodey sees the response burning in his eyes.

 _I'm not a victim_.

But Tony doesn't say it, because he understands.

"I'm tired," Tony says instead of arguing.

"Want me to leave you alone?" Rhodey asks.

Tony inclines his head and then shrugs. "I told Peter I'd meet him in half an hour. You can... you can stay until then." His eyes remain fixed on the window, avoiding Rhodey. "If you want."

Rhodey stays, and when Tony comes back from the Parker household, his shaking hands and lowered eyes are replaced with a laugh on his lips and a bright smile as he tells Rhodey about the kid's newest endeavour.

(And fine, Rhodey's a bit jealous, he wishes that he could put the light in Tony's eyes like that, and he's a bit worried because he doesn't want Tony's happiness too dependent on the kid but they're working on it and someday, it'll be alright.

For now, he settles for being content as Tony smiles and beams and regales the story with sweeping gestures and funny sound effects, childish in the best way.)


	8. Chapter 8

Tony is at one of those charity type events (which are really just an excuse for the rich to pretend that they're somewhere near decent people to gain the public's love) when an old friend with slicked-back hair (Tony doesn't remember his name but he remembers holding his back and laughing as he throws up into Tony's shoes, drunk out of his mind, remembers the sweet-lipped girl that he introduces Tony to and remembers kissing away memories of a car crash while the old friend watches... actually, nevermind, maybe not quite a 'friend') saunters up and grins at Tony.

"Haven't seen you in a while," The man says, clapping a hand to Tony's back and offering him a bold grin. "Having fun with that hero junk? You bang Black Widow yet?"

"No," Tony pushes his arm away, "I'm with Pepper."

"Eh," The man shrugs, "You haven't gone crazy and decided to just stick with one woman or anything, have you? That would be boring. Here, I know," He pulls Tony outside, onto a balcony, and shoves a cigarette between Tony's fingers.

"We're at a _charity ball_..."

"Didn't stop us before," A laugh, and Tony thinks with disgust _how could I have ever been like this_ and then there's a flash of fire before a strong hand opens his jaw (Tony pushes down the memory of Afghanistan and hands opening his mouth as water pours in and he lets out a soundless scream) and a smoking cigarette is stuck between his lips. "Lighten up, eh?"

Another clap to Tony's back and he's gone, leaving Tony's fingers to recall muscle memory and two fingers lift to his lips where he breathes it in as though it were normal air (the smoke in his lungs should feel wrong, Tony should hate it, but it just brings back memories of uncaring laughter and stupid smiles, it brings back a time where he thought of Stane as a second father and he had no worries).

He pulls the cigarette out.

Breathes.

The smoke plumes in front of his face in a familiar wave of transparent white and instead of disgust it only leaves behind a feeling of familiarity.

He smokes outside for a while, robotically, his brain detached (maybe he's dissociating again, maybe it's the smoke, Tony can't tell) before a tight grip on his wrist drags him back down to reality.

"Tony, what are you _doing_?" Pepper shrieks and the cigarette should be under his boot by now, should be thrown away, but instead, it dangles between two fingers as a condemnation.

"Smoking," now the disgust hits, and Tony snuffs it out on the balcony railing, a smooth, practiced movement. He flicks the ashes and drops the cigarette beneath his feet. His tongue feels heavy and stiff, "Don't worry about it."

Pepper shakes her head, that way that she always does when she finds him impossible to understand. When she calls him an _enigma_ in that exasperated, displeased voice. "How am I not supposed to worry about you doing something that you swore you would never do?"

Tony shrugs, "You could stop caring."

Those are not the words that are supposed to come out of his lips.

(They are, nevertheless, the words that find their way out.)

"Wait," Tony's eyes widen, and it's his turn to grip Pepper's wrist, "Wait, no, that was wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

Pepper jerks her arm away and Tony's heart thumps, _once, twice_ , but she stays still, in front of him, frowning at him with those eyes like a storm and her makeup perfect and not a hair out of place.

Comparing himself to her always makes Tony feel inadequate, but now he especially feels like trash.

"What am I supposed to do," she straightens her tie, smooths his hair behind an ear, shakes her head at him, "If you revert to old habits?"

Tony isn't sure what to say, what he _can_ say that will make this okay, make it alright that he took the cigarette as though it were a cup of coffee.

He settles on humour.

(Old habits die hard.)

"You hire Natasha to murder me, obviously," He raises his eyebrows, "Maybe marry May Parker, ensure that Peter has a safe future, and get some eye drops for my funeral." He laughs a bit at his joke.

Pepper doesn't.

She gives him a sad look, and Tony fights back the urge to ask _what's wrong_ because he knows exactly what's wrong.

Him.

(It's always him.)

"I'm sure that we can come to some other solution," It's an attempt at teasing, but she says it so softly that it could never be mistaken for such.

"Mm," Tony presses his forehead to the top of her head.

He's still detached.

His head goes back to feeling fuzzy.

Pepper's hair feels like water even as it tickles his eyelids.

"I want to go home," he says in a small voice.

"People will talk, Tony," Pepper says softly. Voice hushed. "You've been building such a good reputation for yourself in the media lately."

Tony wants to shrug, but he's too tired to. "Let them talk," he murmurs, "It doesn't matter."

"I don't want you to regret this later," Pepper says. She squeezes his hand, though, a silent word that she will accept whatever he wants. Perhaps it is meant to be warm, but it feels like barely a touch. He feels it like in a dream, where he doesn't feel it so much as his brain simply registers that it happened.

"If I..." Tony's voice says, "If I stay but I don't socialize, will that also reflect poorly?"

Pepper bites her lower lip and chews on it, "You don't have to stay, Tony," she says softly. "I won't force you."

"Then I want to go home."

Maybe Tony will regret this come morning.

Maybe he'll regret it as soon as he reaches the car.

(All the same, at that moment, all he can feel is weary and a burning need to _leave_.)

* * *

Tony wakes in his bedroom, his blanket thrown across the room and a battered copy of Peter's high school's science textbook on the bedside table next to him.

Ah. Bad night, then.

(He ignores the burning memory of last night, of blank touches and empty words and driving home and being there before he knows it, stunned for a moment because he's never zoned out, not like that, not when his lips moved and words came out and not when he held a conversation.)

(He ignores the memory of last night as it plays out like a movie, detached and distant from himself even as Pepper touches his arm and whispers _are you okay_ and he gives her a smile that none of them believe to be true and laughs loudly _why wouldn't I be_.)

He sits on the edge of his bed for a moment (a moment or perhaps forever, he isn't sure which), head in his hands, and he breathes and tries to wake himself up from this feeling of in-betweenness because he needs clarity right now, not this feeling of being blurred and being stuck in a world that isn't his own.

(His dresser is familiar but not familiar, he has seen it every morning but he has not seen it until this moment and it doesn't make sense and yet it does...)

(There's a therapist word for this, Tony has simply forgotten it, it lies outside of his grasp, not taunting, simply out of reach. Like the road just beyond sight on a foggy day. It doesn't taunt. It simply isn't there.)

He feels like a string stretched tautly.

(He isn't sure if he's real.)

He feels distant.

(He can barely feel the bed beneath him.)

He feels... vaguely.

(He feels like he's a ghost.)

He isn't sure how long he stays there, silent and with only the sound of his own breath keeping on, but it's long enough that there's a soft voice saying, "Tony?" and he opens his eyes (when did he close them?) to see Bruce staring at him with a concerned expression. "You okay, man?" Bruce asks.

It's a rhetorical question, Tony thinks.

"Peachy," he says, despite knowing that.

"Mm-hm," Bruce, unsurprisingly, doesn't sound convinced. "Panic attack?"

"I don't know," Tony says, "I feel like I'm watching everything on one of those old TV screens with the fizzy edges and those random lines going down the side."

"How do I look?" Bruce asks.

"Like a corpse," Tony squeezes his eyes shut, "Or a robot."

Bruce hums thoughtfully, "Diagnosis?"

"The word won't come," Tony admits.

"That's okay," Bruce says with an incline of his head, "I appreciate the thought."

(It's patronizing, it feels patronizing, but where Tony would usually feel anger he feels nothing, as though the words don't register in his brain.)

"I'm tired," Tony says, even though he just woke up.

"When was the last time that you showered?" Bruce asks.

Tony's shoulders shrug.

"I'm going to pour you a cup of water," Bruce says, "You're going to drink it all. Then you'll shower, and if you feel up to it, we'll go outside to the grocery store to get some supplies and we'll make pancakes and bacon, yeah?"

Tony's eyes stay closed. "Showers take a lot of energy."

"I know, Tony," Bruce says softly, "But it will make you feel better, I promise."

 _Okay_ , Tony thinks.

"Okay," Tony says. "I can do that."

Probably.

Bruce comes back with a cup of water and Tony has to open his eyes. When Bruce puts the cup in Tony's hands, it doesn't quite register and so his fingers are slack around the cup. After a soft reminder not to drop it, Tony's grip turns his knuckle white, knowing that if he turns his concentration to something else, the cup will slip through his fingers.

Drinking the water, like most other things, feels like it's between a moment and eternity.

(Tony is beginning to see a pattern here, but his brain is too tired to click it into a _eureka_ moment.)

The water wakes him up a bit, cool liquid swirling down his throat and through his veins.

"I'll wait for you in the living space," Bruce says, pointing outside of the bedroom to the living space where Tony has couches and a TV.

 _Okay_ , Tony thinks.

"Okay," Tony murmurs.

(Another pattern. Isn't he smart, today.)

Taking off his clothes is one chore.

Turning on the shower is another.

Once he starts scrubbing his skin and putting on the shampoo, he feels a bit more alive.

When he gets out of the shower, he's still a bit tired, but he doesn't feel like he's dreaming anymore.

"Did you take your meds last night?" Bruce asks.

"I forgot to refill them this week," Tony admits, rubbing the back of the neck.

(That explains a lot, he supposes.)

"Want to refill them when we go out?" Bruce suggests.

Tony smiles wanly, "That sounds good," he says.

(He actually means it.)

They refill it, and the meds don't really do their magic right away (and Tony knows, it's not so simple as a pill, it's just a little boost to get him on equal footing with everyone else) but Tony feels a bit better all the same (placebo effect).

"Dissociation," Tony tastes the word on his tongue, and Bruce nods as he goes to get them some blueberries.

"Do you have any fruit at home?" Bruce asks patting a watermelon.

Tony shrugs.

Bruce offers him a sad look, "You feel like watermelon?"

Tony gnaws on his nails, "I like it," he admits.

Bruce smiles widely (was that the first honestly positive thing that Tony has said all day? It was, wasn't it? That's a bit sad) and they buy the watermelon (Bruce pays, ignoring Tony's protests as he says _SHIELD pays me to wreck stuff and you already pay for literally everything I would need to pay for_ ).

When they get home, Bruce stirs the batter and Tony offers to cut the watermelon but Bruce shakes his head (Tony pouts before he realizes that Bruce is worried about Tony hurting himself and he's torn between anger and hugging Bruce to thank him. He chooses the latter, and Bruce awkwardly pats his arm).

They eat pancakes and Bruce talks about his latest science project (his voice is croaky from disuse and there are times where it fades because he never talks for this long, but Tony cannot speak and he likes to listen so Bruce talks, and he's animated and excited enough to make up for the disuse of his voice).

It doesn't feel like a moment.

It doesn't feel like an eternity.

But it _happens_ , and Tony feels that despite the fog in his head, it'll be okay.

(Two days later, he wakes up and the world is bright and colourful and he twirls and kisses Pepper and shouts _look how bright the sky is_ and she laughs fondly and it is between a moment and eternity, but it is not polarised, and that is perfectly lovely.)


	9. Chapter 9

Tony and Pepper's dances in the rain are different from Peter and May's.

Where Peter and May are wild, causing a ruckus and splashing in puddles and living in youth, Tony and Pepper's dances are slow, romantic things that take place in the rain merely because there is no one else and they both find the rain beautiful.

Their dances are still, soft things, a moment held in time, the sands of time stilled in their hourglass for this one dance despite the beat of the rain drumming against their cheeks and sliding down their shoulders.

"You're crazy," Pepper breathes into Tony's collarbone as they waltz around the rooftop, thunder roaring like the beat of a Wakandan drum and lighting crackling through clouds as though Thor's fingers are right above them, hidden from sight as they send bright flashes of blue racing down to the earth.

"Fair," Tony hums as he twirls her out.

Her dress, powder blue, spins out, the mermaid skirt flaring as much as it can, raindrops flying off the edges and into the air, hair kept in a bun but wisps stuck to her face with the water, and when she twirls back in Tony can feel his fancy button up shirt sticking to his chest.

Lightning flashes in that moment, bright, neon blue outlining Pepper's freckled cheeks and her sharp nose and ginger hair. Wisps float around, ethereal and fairy like.

Under his fancy button up shirt, Tony's heart beats fast (and he thinks that maybe this is love).

"Any specific reason why you say that as of the moment?" Tony asks as he dips her.

She smiles at him, fond, soft, and closes her eyes. The raindrops on her face are as large as her eyes, and she can't keep them open when she faces the sky like that. Tony lifts her back up and she opens her eyes again, "Do you really need to ask?" she raises an eyebrow and he shrugs at her.

"Indulge me," He says.

"Don't I always?" She presses a chaste kiss to his lips, a soft, quick thing that leaves too quickly to make Tony want to chase for more. "Dancing in the rain? Not exactly the thing of the movies."

"Aw," He slides his nose against hers for a moment and pulls away again, laughing as his nose drips water onto his chin, "You don't think that this is romantic? Something straight out of the Notebook, perhaps?"

"No," she laughs, breathless as they twirl and he picks her up by the waist.

Tony spins her around, Pepper's hair flying and she laughs as he puts her down, skirt flaring as she lands on her tiptoes.

"Maybe this isn't the best way to woo a girl," She muses, and Tony pouts at her. Pepper smiles, faint and affectionate as she cups a hand against Tony's cheek, fingers dripping and rain tracing her fingertips on their way down Tony's cheeks, and she says, "But it sure is a nice way to woo _me_ over."

"Oh, Pepps," He laughs as she slings her arms around his neck, his hands around her waist and they sway together to the pounding of the rain. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special."

"What can I say?" Pepper's laugh is sweet and light, "I'm perfect."

There is not much else on the rooftop. There's a bit of a railing and the rain spills over the edge, leaving enough of a half inch of rain that Tony feels like he's standing on a waterfall. They are lit by lightning and streetlights thousands of miles below and the faint glow of a bedroom light, but beyond that, there is nothing else to help him see.

It doesn't matter, anyway.

They are surrounded by clouds and rain and metal, the brief reflection of lightning cracks against a metal doorknob, the smooth pool of water that drips in a _slurp_ off the edge of the roof, the tap dance of the rain even as it roars in Tony's ears.

It doesn't matter.

None of that matters, because Pepper is right in front of him, and Pepper is beautiful and she would be even if Tony was blind, she is beauty and grace and utterly, truly, perfect.

"It's true," he breathes, a bit breathless, "You are."

He doesn't have to see Pepper, to know the fond smile on her lips, the bright red of her lipsticks as they curve up, the wrinkle of the edges of her eyes, the way her cheeks shift and her nose crinkles.

He doesn't have to see her, to know that she's utterly and breathtakingly beautiful.

"Well, you know, you shouldn't knock yourself too short, either," Pepper says teasingly. Her voice is a light, dancing cadence as she sways with him and says, "You're at least a 6 out of 10."

"Compared to you?" He laughs, "Nobody can even reach a 3."

Pepper laughs at him, flattered but thinking him silly nonetheless. He loves that sound.

"My beautiful, perfect, Amazonian warrior, Pepper who rivals Wonder Woman, Pepper whose beauty outshines Cleopatra, Pepper who..."

She cuts him off with a kiss.

Tony kisses back.

It isn't passionate, fast or anything like that. They don't push into each other, don't grip each other's hair.

They're simply there, at that moment, a chaste, soft thing, merely revelling in being near each other and completely, utterly in love. Tony stands on his tiptoes and Pepper laughs into their kiss and it is that moment between falling asleep and dreaming. It is perfect and soft and lovely and Tony forgets the world.

When they pull away, the storm has lessened to a soft patter.

Tony twirls Pepper out. She twirls, then spins back to his chest, and when her shoulderblades connect with his chest, the rain stops.

The sun peeks out through the clouds.

The air smells like rain and dew and sunshine and something new.

Tony kisses Pepper one last time and they laugh at each other before leaving the rooftop, suit and tie and dress soaked, water dripping and beading on their skin, but it does not matter at that moment, because they are in love and everything else can be forgotten right then and there.

* * *

"I thought that you would be here," Familiar words with a familiar voice, coarse and soft and hesitant as Bruce closes the door behind him. It softly _clicks_ , and though Tony knows that it's irrational, it sounds like a death rattle even though Bruce stands at the door, stiff and unsure of how to continue.

Bruce's back makes a blurred reflection on the glass door behind him, the faint colours of muddy green (Tony almost laughs at the irony) and curls a spongy blob of pepper-and-salt gray.

The lab is dimly lit. Tony sees it and Bruce sees it, too, judging by that sad, concerned expression that twists his expression into something between concern and pity that Tony doesn't quite like the looks of.

Bruce's shoulders at tensely held, but his head falls forward as though his neck doesn't quite have enough energy to keep holding it up and Tony's stomach twists with the displeased knowledge that if it weren't for him, Bruce would probably be somewhere else, doing something nice and calm by himself.

"What can I say," Tony's voice isn't nearly so loud nor cocky as he would like it. The arrogance that normally bleeds into it isn't there, replaced by a weariness that sinks through his bones and oozes out his skin. It bleeds from the scratchy disuse of his voice and from the way that Bruce's fingers move to fiddle with the hem of his shirt, Bruce hears it just as clearly as Tony can.

(Tony hates that.)

"I live to please."

"If you do live to please," Bruce's lips twist in that funny little way of his, the way that they always do when Bruce has that odd, little quirky joke that nobody quite understands (not even himself) but he finds to be amusing to him all the same. "Then why don't you get some rest? Go to sleep. Sleep in late to tomorrow morning, then we'll have a nice day in, yeah? Maybe go to the park if you're up for it? Pet some dogs, watch some movies, or just talk science around the lab with the sun in through the windows."

It's a lie.

A pretty, lovely little wrapped up lie that Tony _wishes_ he could adhere to, a set of instructions neatly printed on a verbal to-do list that Tony thinks any normal person would call slacking but Tony can barely come up with the energy to leave his seat in front of his tools.

It's what he wants.

It's an _ideal_.

He cannot achieve something like that, not yet, not now, not when there's an ache in his bones and a _need_ to stay awake despite his mind knowing how utterly irrational such thought is.

He says as much to Bruce, summing it up in fewer words, "You know that I can't."

Bruce is silent. Tony sees his answer on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said, the words held back just barely, _but you can. I know that you can, you know that you can, what's holding you back_?

But Bruce says nothing.

Tony thinks that he's grateful for that.

His prototype arc reactor sits neatly on the workbench in front of him, faintly glowing holograms above his head and pushed to the side providing a dim blue light. It casts odd shadows on his arms, powder blue tracing the hairs on his arms to make them faintly off-white, the white light curving on the edges of his skin and lighting the tips of his fingernails.

"It's so dark in here," Bruce says quietly. It isn't anything for himself nor a request for Tony to turn on the lights, merely an observation, possibly a note on Tony's carelessness. "How long have you been here?"

Tony swallows. He can feel his throat bob and he forces himself to shrug, "Who knows."

And honestly, he doesn't know. He doesn't remember when he came, just remembers a nightmare and crawling to the lab instead of coping in any healthier manner. Falling into old habits, drawing up plans and plans upon plans for every contingency, trying to find a way to defend others from threats (despite that there will always be another threat, always be more threats to come that Tony won't be able to protect everyone from).

Bruce draws closer until he stands at the edge of Tony's workbench. The dim lighting of the holograms and arc reactor cast a halo-like effect on his hair as the tufts and curls turn ethereal white and his face is lit dramatically with a highlight on his cheeks and brow and deep shadows cast over his eyes and under his nose.

"You need to rest," Bruce repeats softly.

Tony puts down his tools. Dismisses the holograms. "FRIDAY, lights."

Bright, blinding light.

" _Fuck_... ow, ugh, no... dimmer, _dim the lights_ , for goodness sake... _thank you_ , FRIDAY," Tony turns back to Bruce. He fiddles with his hands, twiddles his thumbs, plays with the curve of his knuckles. "I can't sleep," he says, "And I'm not taking any damn pills, either."

Bruce sits down on the end of the table after scraping himself a clean spot.

"Don't make me sleep, Bruce," Tony says quietly.

Bruce stays silent. His eyes rove over Tony, taking in the slouch of his shoulders and the oil in his hair. "Take a bubble bath," he makes a half-aborted shrugging motion, "And when you're done that, we'll talk, yeah?"

Tony stares at his nails. That's a good deal. Probably the best that he's going to get without doing something stupid that he'll regret come morning. "Yeah," he manages, closing his eyes. "Sounds like a plan."

He takes the bubble bath and when he comes out Bruce washes some cherries for them to eat and sends Tony to bed as Bruce sits by and reads _See You in the Cosmos_ with that still, cool voice of his.

When Tony wakes up, Bruce has left a little sticky note with _asleep in my room_ scrawled on it and the book neatly bookmarked on his bedside.

He goes to Bruce's room and when Bruce wakes up, they go to the park to pet some dogs.


	10. Chapter 10

The night comes slow, dragging it's feet and keeping the blistering heat for as long as it may.

The sun is slow to dip below the horizon, moon reluctant to rise and the stars have yet to come out when Pepper comes to find Tony that night.

"Still awake?" she asks quietly, looking impeccable even in her messy bun and that over-sized tank that she stole from Tony, pale gray with a red and yellow trash can on it and blocky letters reading _I AM IRON-CAN_. It still makes Tony crack up every time he sees it, no matter how lame it is.

Tony closes his eyes and considers staying silent. He's tired, and it's late enough in the night that he can fake it, but it's a night where he welcomes Pepper's presence and so he answers quietly, "No."

His voice is hoarse and silent, an oddity in the stillness of the warm night.

He hasn't bothered to put his covers on, too hot, and his bright red Mickey Mouse shorts do their best to keep him cool.

Pepper lies down next to him and presses her toes against his, smooth feet bumping against each other and he laughs a bit when she hits a ticklish spot on the bottom of his foot.

"Stop!"

"Make me," Pepper grins at him, wild and roguish in a way that she rarely is. Must be his influence, Tony reflects.

He complies and rolls over, kissing her on the neck, where he knows that _she's_ ticklish, and she rolls away from him, giggling.

He could drown in the smell of her shampoo, Tony thinks as they smile at each other, both a bit worn out from being tickled like that. "I love you," he breathes, carding his fingers through her hair, and Pepper laughs at him.

"I know," she says back, kissing the tip of his nose. "Are you going to sleep anytime soon?"

"Depends," Tony hums against her fingers when she rests a hand on his cheek, "Are you going to try and make me do more paperwork again?"

"No," Pepper laughs, "But Peter dropped by earlier."

"Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater?" Tony pouts, "And he didn't come see me?"

"We were in a meeting," Pepper reminds him, a gentle chiding, "He gave the receptionist a big bag of glow in the dark star stickers, said to give them to you. What are you planning to do with them?"

"Nothing much," Tony grins at her, "Why, you want them?"

Pepper rolls her eyes at him, "What would I even do with them?" At his thoughtful look, Pepper pokes Tony's stomach, "Don't even think about it."

"I didn't say anything, though!" Tony protests.

"I can see your brain thinking and churning away, don't think I can't," Pepper pokes Tony's forehead, and there is something soft and sweet to her smile that makes Tony kiss her fingers.

"Ah, yes," She giggles at him, sleep and fatigue ripping away any barriers or any semblance of formality, leaving behind a rarity, Pepper being completely with her emotions. "How could I forget?" Tony raises an eyebrow, "Nothing can get past the genius, Pepper. Secretly a superhero 24/7, the Great Pepper Potts can read everyone's minds and is omniscient."

"Don't forget omnipotent," Pepper grins at him, wide and crooked and utterly perfect.

"Ah, yes," Tony smiles at her, carding his fingers through her hair, "How could I forget? Pepper Potts, the All-Powerful." He hums the tune to a song only half forgotten, "I've been rubbing off on you."

"Oh no," Pepper sounds scandalized, "How terrible."

"It really is," Tony snickers, "I'm a bad influence."

"Terrible."

"Awful."

"The worst, truly."

"Glad you agree," Tony smiles at Pepper, "Do you want to put up those stickers right now?"

Pepper pretends to think about it, taking a long time before she drawls, "It's late, isn't it, Tony?"

Tony pouts at her, "We're awake, aren't we?"

"You need to sleep," Pepper smiles at him, "Big day tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's my off day!" Tony squeaks.

"You're trying to marathon all of Avatar: The Last Airbender in only _three days_ , Tony."

He huffs at her, "That is a completely realistic goal and I stan it."

"That's... Tony, that's not what the word means."

"Yes, it is."

A sigh. "It's _really_ not."

"It's slang!"

"Okay, I know that you spend a lot of time with Peter, but the word _stan_ means..."

"Pepper, let me have this."

"You are _misusing the word, Tony_."

"Okay, fine, I'm an idiot," Tony pouts at her, "But I can still marathon ATLA in three days!"

"Look, Tony, if you spend _ten hours_ a day on watching it, you'll still need _four days_ to finish it."

"Okay, yes, but if I watch for _sixteen hours_ a day, I can finish it in _two_!"

Pepper stares.

Tony shifts awkwardly.

"Tony..."

" _I can do it_."

"And _I_ just want you to take care of yourself." Tony huffs even as Pepper takes his hand in hers and kisses his knuckles. Pepper's eyes are soft and her smile is crooked as she asks, "Can you do that for me?"

"You always have such high demands," Tony's knuckles stay pressed against Pepper's lips. She keeps them there and he does not choose to resist. "You could watch with me. It'll be like a date."

"Lack of sleep, moody attitude as a side effect?" Pepper smiles, "Sounds like you're trying to manipulate the situation into a bad break up."

"We're engaged," Tony smiles dozily at the tan line on Pepper's ring finger. She has tucked it away for safekeeping, but the tan line persists. "Kind of hard to break up."

"Go without more than 3 hours of sleep a day and see how our relationship fares in a week." Pepper laughs, but it isn't in earnest.

"If you start watching as soon as you wake and sleep as soon as you're finished the sixteen hours, that's still 8 hours of sleep." Tony points out.

"Accounting two hours so that paperwork doesn't pile up, one hour to shower, one hour for bedtime routine, one hour to exercise, around two hours to eat..."

"We can eat while we watch," Tony suggests.

Pepper laughs, the sound vibrating against the back of his hands, "You're crazy."

"You love me," Tony grins, wild and dopey at the same time, "So you're pretty crazy, too, right?"

"I guess I am," Pepper smiles at him, "You know, I'm feeling a bit tired..."

Tony quickly agrees, "You know, I'm feeling it, too. What a wild coincidence."

"Wild," Pepper giggles. "Have you brushed your teeth?"

"Of course," Tony says, scandalized. "Have you washed your face?"

Pepper raises an eyebrow, "Tony, you have a ten minute face cleansing routine, and you're asking _me_ , who literally only has a two minute routine?"

"It's therapeutic," Tony pouts, "It's for my mental health."

"And you look very handsome," Pepper rubs a finger on the corners of his eyebrows, smiling, "Yes. I have washed my face."

"Okay," Tony smiles, "I guess we've both finished our bedtime routines, then."

"We should sleep," Pepper agrees.

"Yes," They close their eyes.

They fall asleep in minutes, tangled in each other's arms, and it's peaceful and soft and perfect.

(Until the middle of the night, when Tony rolls off the bed and Pepper is awoken by the _thump_. She thinks of leaving him there, then Tony rolls over and hits his forehead on the side of the bed. It starts bleeding, he is _still_ asleep, and Pepper groans because only her fiance would get injured and stay asleep, forcing her hand in the middle of the night.

"You suck," she mumbles as she puts the band-aid on his forehead, still half asleep.

"I love you, too," Tony yawns.

The rest of their sleep is peaceful, though, so that should count for something?)

* * *

Tony is watching Peter play the piano.

There is a cup of strawberry slush in his hand that he drinks from a bendy straw (because who doesn't love bendy straws?) and Peter looks utterly absorbed in the music.

They are in the Avengers Compound. Tony doesn't spend nearly so much time here as he probably ought to (he wants to, sometimes, thinks he should, hates himself for not doing it, but Pepper's soft touches feel better when he knows they are alone in a little corner store and the Parker's little apartment is much kinder than the vast emptiness of whitewashed walls and expensive metal edges on bulletproof windows), but the Parker's apartment has no piano nor walls thick enough for him to buy them one, and thus Peter has come today to play the piano.

The sound of Peter playing is clumsy, his fingers tend to stumble when he sight reads, and he's sight reading _Hey Jude_ , trying hands together for the first time.

Tony thinks that it sounds wonderful anyway, and tells Peter such when he finishes up and goes to sit next to Tony.

Peter smiles a bit at him, "Thanks," he says quietly.

Tony and Peter fall into light conversation, little matters that don't really concern either of them and that they don't need to remember, and somewhere it ends with Peter saying _you would make a good dad_.

Tony freezes.

"No," He says. It comes out almost brooding, and he can't fight down the urge to stare at his hands, calloused and scarred from little accidents in the workshop (a scar from when he got distracted with soldering, from an accident with summoning the Iron Man armor, so forth). "I wouldn't."

Peter scowls at him, "You're not doing that thing again, are you?"

"What thing?" Tony demands, knowing Full Well what Thing Peter is referring to.

"That self-esteem thing," Peter waves his hands vaguely, gesturing at nothing, "Where you get all down on yourself for no reason."

Tony gnaws on his straw, a nervous habit that he hopes doesn't stick with him (nervous habits get you injured in hero work). "Parenting is a big deal," he mumbles.

"You would be good at it," Peter answers lightly.

Tony shakes his head, "You have to... you have to put your kid above so much else, to be a good parent. You have to teach your kid how to prioritize and how to life, and you're dedicating a lifetime, you're dedicating _eighteen years_ to shaping your kid, this isn't just telling someone something, you have to _be_ amazing and empathetic and I just..." the straw bends between his teeth because straws are fragile and flexible, "I just can't do that."

Peter hums, "You're good at it."

"No, kid, I," Tony huffs, "Maybe one day. When I'm a better person, yeah? When I can hold kids and look at them, when I can be patient and ask things like _why do you think that?_ and be willing to listen to an hour of toddler opinions, take note of everything, and _then_ gently guide them to the right answer in a way that makes them think that they were the ones who had an epiphany. When I can look at a crying kid and empathize instead of trying to stick a band-aid over it and ignoring the root of the problem. When I can do..." he clenches his hand and unclenches it, "When I can be _more_."

Peter laughs a bit and rests his head on Tony's shoulders, "You know what to do."

"You forget things in the heat of the moment," Tony says quietly, "You get mad or you're tired one day and you say the wrong thing, and I'll forget that I ever called my kid stupid when they were five and I was tired, and they'll remember it when they're twenty-five on their wedding day."

Peter is quiet for a moment, and he says quietly, "You don't have to be one. I'm not saying that. I'm just saying, you're a better person than you think you are."

"Not good enough for a kid," Tony shrugs, and Peter's head bobs up and floats down with the movement.

"Yet," Peter smiles a bit at Tony.

Tony's chest is tight, but his lips smile back, "Yet," he echoes, a bit hesitantly.

Peter grins, "That's okay. Just means I get you all to myself!"

Tony sticks his tongue out, "I'm not your dad, kid," he grumbles.

"Could've fooled me," Peter laughs, "You bought half my furniture."

"Shut up," Tony grumbles.

Peter smiles at him, "It's okay. You're not my dad. But you're close enough."

Tony's face is red, and he can't think of a proper response. "Yeah, well," he clears his throat, "You're a good kid."

Peter laughs.

Tony thinks, he's not good enough to be a parent yet, but Peter is enough. He doesn't need a kid.

(At least, until Peter goes to college and Tony is left without him coming over all the time. Then... maybe. He's still got two years until that happens.)


	11. Chapter 11

Tony's fingers feel like _tree stumps_.

 _God_.

Tony hates this feeling.

His fingers feel fat and stiff and stupid and when he moves them, they _move_ , yes, but it's like pulling teeth, they're so utterly _slow_ and... ugh, what's the word for the opposite of nimble?... whatever that word is, and it's just so utterly...

He hates it.

Hates it with the core of his being and he feels like screaming and throwing something across the room and _yes_ , fine, it's childish but he doesn't know what to do and it's just.

He doesn't hate it.

He can't hate things, like that, he knows, he's hated Howard for years and years (and now it leaves behind something empty and blank and confused that he should have resolved _years_ ago but now just leaves him feeling twisted and uncertain), and this feeling, it's negativity, it's bad, it's...

 _Christ_ , he sounds like a fucking therapist.

He messes up some stupid little part and when he moves his fat stupid stumps of fingers to pull it off, it feels _stuck_. So Tony digs his thumb in deeper and curses himself for always cutting his nails so short before it finally pops up and smashes into the bottom of his chin.

 _O_ _w._

Great.

He lets loose a few curse words when he feels pain blossoming under his nails and realizes that when he dug his finger under the metal to pull it off, he shoved it in that little spot between his flesh and his nail and now the top third of the spot there is bleeding and it's trickling down and.

He stares at it blankly, wanting to swear but too tired to and he's just.

He.

Tony.

He can't think.

His brain, it feels sluggish, stupid, and there's this screaming _urge_ in his chest, shouting at him to _movemovemove, fuck, Tony, do you want to be a failure, are you going to burn out and become a washout so quickly and there will be YouTube videos titled "what happened to Tony Stark" with really crappy information and you'll know that it'll be because you're stupid and slow and lazy and_...

No, no, wait, Fengchi said that it was fine to relax a bit and...

 _...that's what normal people say to make themselves feel better.._.

He needs to stop listening to his brain.

"Fry," He stands up, sucking on the tip of his thumb and hissing when it hurts even more. Okay. Not doing that, then. "What should I do?"

"A band-aid won't be much help for your thumb," FRIDAY says, sounding concerned but blithe. It makes his chest twist a bit, "Wash it and don't use it. It should heal within 24 hours."

"Okay," Tony closes his eyes, "I'll just get back to work and..."

" _Don't use it_ ," FRIDAY repeats, harsh and sharp, and then, continues pointedly, "Mentally, you should take the day off and socialize."

Tony shakes his head, "I'm fine, it's just my thumb..."

His voice rings out in the workshop, metal and echoes and it clangs and he has a sudden, startling _awareness_ of the world and his feet feel fat and his hands feel useless and he feels like a tree, stuck in the ground, unable to change or go anywhere, just stand and grow and be useless but at least trees provide oxygen and stuff and...

 _Unhealthy brain train, Tony, stop thinking_.

As though it's so easy.

"I need to do something," his voice says, desperate, fast, shaky, but his feet are glued to the ground and they won't move and.

"One moment," FRIDAY's voice's answer is dim, distant.

He stands and watches the dust, eyes mostly unfocused, staring vaguely at the space before him, and then he blinks and the kid is skidding down the stairs, taking a moment to slide down the banister before pressing a hand onto the wall and somehow flipping over to land on the ground.

Tony should probably scold FRIDAY for calling the kid, he thinks vaguely.

"I don't have time for you," Tony's voice says when Peter arrives in front of him.

The kid's eyes narrow, hands stuck to his hips, stubborn in all his scrawny little glory as he _hmph_ s and says, "Yeah, well, I don't think so, Mr. Stark. We're going to _make_ time for me," and something is wrong, something must be, because the kid is almost never assertive, teasing and joking, yes, he has relaxed around Tony, _yes_ , but assertive? He's still a kid, still young, he still acts as though Tony is smarter and knows better and he's tricked and...

Tony breathes in, out, and regret washes over him for saying something as horrible as _I don't have time for you_ because he's pretty sure sentences like that traumatize kids for life.

He wants to apologize but his tongue feels heavy and wrong and dry and maybe it's better for the kid if he just realizes how bad Tony is right now, if he cuts ties now before it gets bad and Tony is screaming and throwing beer bottles and...

No, that isn't Tony anymore, that won't be...

He can't...

A hand in his, grip firm but not tight, and Peter's quiet voice asking, "Is this okay?"

Tony nods, grateful for Peter grounding him.

"Okay," Peter smiles at Tony, and his eyes focus a bit better, "We're going to go up and have a glass of water, then we're going to stretch a bit and you're going to take a nap, okay?"

"'m not tired," Tony mumbles.

"That's okay," Peter reassures him, "I'll read a book while you lie on the bed and close your eyes, then."

Tony smiles a bit, "Trying to trick me, kid?" he asks, a bit more fire and teasing coming back.

Peter's still learning, so he turns red and sighs, "Bear with me, Mr. Stark."

"Sure, sure," Tony grins, more rogue-ish and teasing now, but Peter doesn't seem to buy it if his exasperated look is any indication. The smile drops a bit, and Tony says quietly, "I'm sorry, kid."

"Don't apologize," Peter's voice is sharp as glass, "Don't you dare apologize for this."

Tony wonders what Peter _will_ accept, and his voice says, oddly humble, "Thank you."

Peter leads him up the stairs, away from his workshop, and does not answer, but Tony thinks that's his acceptance. (Or maybe the kid's too embarrassed. Ha. Tony would tease him but his brain is still a bit foggy and... maybe eventually. When he wakes up from his not-nap, maybe.)

It's the stupidest thing ever, Tony thinks, because he's pretty sure he's not supposed to let the kid parent him like this, but he knows that this is good for his mental health or whatever and the kid is helping and maybe he should be able to do it by himself but he can't and Fengchi would probably think this is a good thing, so that'll have to do for Tony.

The water clears up his head, and when he wakes from his nap, the kid beams and they end up watching _Tangled: The Series_ ' second season and it isn't perfect but it's getting better and Tony likes the thought of that.

* * *

"Going all out for me?" Bruce's voice is dry, teasing all the same, "You shouldn't have."

"Oh, _darling_ ," Tony swings forward, loops an arm over Bruce's shoulders and smiles sweetly, fingers smoothing down his neat ironed button down, a bit of a nervous tic as he sees the glow of the arc reactor through the white of his shirt, "Everything is worth it for you."

Bruce rolls his eyes, and taps two fingers against the back of Tony's hand, a sign that he's alright with contact, "You're ridiculous."

Tony pouts, lower lip sticking out, nose scrunching a bit, "I'm _adorable_."

"Keep telling yourself that," Bruce raises an eyebrow, "With luck, a serial killer will find you and decide you're too pretty to live."

" _Augh_ , Brucey, darling, you're killing me," Tony presses a hand to his chest.

"Wonderful," Bruce bites down a smile, "Don't worry, I'll go to your funeral to keep my cover."

Tony sighs, but doesn't continue the banter. Bruce has a dry, morbid sense of humor that mostly insults others, and Tony _adores_ it, but he's a bit rusty when it comes to this sort of teasing. Most people are too worried about his mental state to joke about his death, and thus Tony isn't quite as sarcastic or witty as he'd like to be in this area.

Bruce's expression flickers with a trace of concern, moving to the kitchen, and Tony's arm drops from Bruce's shoulder to link their arms. "So, what's the fancy clothing for?"

"Got a charity ball earlier today," Tony grimaces, "Haven't had the time to change."

"Well, you look dashing," Bruce smiles a bit, amused at Tony's pain because he is _that_ horrible friend. "I'm sure you were the envy of all the women."

Tony doesn't clarify _the women?_ because he's pretty sure Bruce would make some comment about the stunt he pulled at Pride last month and he does not need more ribbing about The Pride Stunt. (Capital because... well. He doesn't regret it. Well. Maybe he regrets the execution. A bit. A lot. Pepper had shoved _so much_ paperwork at him and he had to do so many press conferences and. Ugh. So much work. Nope. But he refuses to regret it, because that means giving in and Tony is Not Giving In. But. Er. He's just going to move on and stop thinking about this now.)

"Not my fault that I look better in an old tux than they do in Marie St. Pierre," Tony huffs.

Bruce offers him a slightly blank but mostly amused look, "Any plans for the evening?"

Tony brightens, "Workshop!"

The look that Bruce offers him is distinctly scolding this time, and Tony tries his best not to shrivel up. "Tony, no."

Tony pouts, knowing better than to try and say _Tony, yes_. "Why do you hate me, babe?" he asks, tracing a finger down his cheek.

Bruce looks horribly unimpressed, "This was an unhappy marriage," he plays along, "I've been cheating on you all along."

" _Cold_ ," Tony grins, sharp and wide, even as Bruce laughs at him. "But seriously. Why."

"You've been trapped in that workshop for the past six days, Tony," Bruce frowns at Tony, scolding, "I'm not going to let you go back in that easily."

"I've been working on a side project," Tony answers dismissively, "It needs attention."

Bruce hops onto the kitchen counter, " _Six days_ , Tony. How much sleep did you get?"

Tony vaguely recalls falling asleep for a moment and startling up when his cheek hit the burning soldering iron, "Um."

"Pepper says that you burned yourself," Bruce frowns.

"Set me back a few hours," Tony sighs.

Bruce narrows his eyes.

"Fine, fine," Tony holds his hands up, "You got any ideas?"

"A few," Bruce smiles, a twitch smugly, "Scott is having another one of those shrunken movie nights."

"Oh, the ones where you turn small and the laptop screen looks really big?" Tony lights up, "I love those. Something always tries to eat me."

Bruce snorts, "You're ridiculous."

"You love me."

"Maybe," Bruce hums.

Tony laughs, and Bruce laughs a little, and then they end up in a shrunken car in front of a laptop screen. Well, they are there, but then Tony needs to go to the bathroom and forgets that he's shrunken at the moment and one of the ants tries to eat him (though Scott claims they're just being friendly, _ha, right_ , Tony knows when something wants him for dinner) and it's quite the adventure.


	12. Chapter 12

The morning is crisp, air clear and cold, autumn leaves crunching underfoot as they dissolve to little, crumbled pieces and scatter with the wind.

The air is chilly on her skin when Pepper climbs out of bed, cool against the folds of her t-shirt and pajama pants.

Tony watches her with half lidded eyes, still mostly asleep as she stretches, shirt lifting but revealing no skin, the hem too long for that.

He looks groggy, the bags under his eyes, the fold of his forehead as his eyebrows crease together, trying to put together how early it is and why she is already awake.

"Go back to sleep," Pepper whispers, leaning forward to kiss him on the forehead, "It's still early."

He closes his eyes for a moment, thinking of taking her up on that offer, but in the end, Tony has learned to be thoughtful in a way he never was before, and knowing that she likes to make the bed as soon as she wakes, he rolls off, landing with a dramatic _thump_ on the ground.

She laughs at him, the sound waking the both of them up as he groans dramatically, "I am felled."

"By your own hand, no less," she notes, amused, and he smiles dopily at her, something that crinkles the edges of his eyes and widens his lips.

Tony is different, now, she reflects. Less hard lines and more soft eyes.

(Different from before Afghanistan. Different from before New York. Always changing. Always different. And it leaves Pepper wondering if she can keep up. Wondering if it's right, to love the Tony of now when she hadn't loved the Tony of then. But they were different people, then. People keep changing, keep evolving.

Perhaps that's why some fall out of love. But it's why Pepper and Tony fell _in_ love.

Pepper is better now, and so is Tony. And she likes that. They are both good, the way they are right now, she thinks.)

"Time, FRI?" Tony yawns as Pepper makes the bed.

"6:30am, sir," FRIDAY says, infinitely amused, and Tony makes a horrified expression at Pepper.

"You _monster_ ," he hisses.

Pepper fluffs the pillows and laughs at Tony, Tony who wants to wake early but rarely makes a habit of waking before 10am at the earliest.

"Go back to sleep," she says, fondness and something soft in her smile, "I won't mind."

"No," he shakes his head at her, "No, no, it's fine."

She shakes her head at his childish, stubborn nature, but doesn't argue, instead opting to ask, "Then what will you do?"

"Um," he blinks at her, brain not fully working yet, "…whatever you want to do?"

It's his answer in a lot of situations, because Tony is sort of a disaster and Pepper is sort of not.

(Well. Actually. Tony is the epitome of Human Disaster and Pepper is the epitome of Organized. So. Y'know. It's a pretty smart decision, really.)

Pepper hums a bit, gaze taking in Tony, and then she says, "I'm going to go do my morning routine, you go do yours, we'll meet back here at 7:00 to take a nice walk outside together."

"Sounds like a plan," Tony gives her an awkward thumbs-up and goes off to do something that is hopefully productive but not self destructive.

(Is that too much to ask? Since this is Tony they're talking about, yeah, probably. Still. Pepper has hopes.)

She does her morning pages, writes down her thoughts and clears her head, breathes in the air and opens the window a crack to feel the thin touch of the outside world push a breeze against her cheek.

Pepper drinks her water, cleans her skin, and because she doesn't want to keep ruining her skin, she decides to forgo the makeup for today.

(Part of her worries about what the papers will say. The other part of her scoffs, vicious and cold, _who cares_ , and she listens to that part instead of the part that wonders of her reputation. Not wearing makeup never killed anybody.)

Tony is waiting for her when she returns to the bedroom, sleepy fingers working on the wiring of some little contraption.

Probably for Peter, she thinks with no small amusement when she notices the little blue spider painted on the metal.

"Ready?" she asks, and he blinks groggily at her, still not awake after half an hour.

She huffs at him, shakes her head. _What am I going to do with you?_

"Come on," she plucks the bauble from his fingers, and it slips with his shock, he blinks as she sets it on the bed and pulls him up and towards the kitchen, "You drink any water?"

"Coffee," he mumbles.

Pepper rolls her eyes, shoving Tony into the couch and pouring him a glass of water, "Finish it. You've got five minutes."

He downs it with obedient speediness, smile faintly amused as he raises an eyebrow at her questioningly. "Forceful."

"Too tired to deal with this," she waves a hand flippantly, setting the glass into the sink when he's finished with it and pulling him to the elevator, "Care for a walk outside?"

"Is there an actual option to say no here?" he tilts his head at her, an amused smile playing on his lips, and Pepper smiles a bit and taps the tip of his nose.

"Clever," she praises him, and Tony shakes his head at her, fond.

"A secluded stroll down the quiet streets of the city, hm?" He kisses the back of her hand, a soft, chaste motion, "How romantic."

"I'm not trying to seduce you, if that's what you're implying," Pepper raises an eyebrow, still smiling at him, "Besides, I'm pretty sure that you're already seduced."

"My heart is all yours, milady," Tony agrees easily, shoulders rolling back and smile wide, an ease to the fluidity of his motion and the sweep of his arms as he presses a hand to his chest.

Pepper smiles at him and reaches out to curl her fingers around his hand, "Just a little walk outside of the park," she promises, "That's it."

"Sounds wonderful," he agrees easily.

The wind outside is sharp on her skin, leaves scattering and finding fresh ways to tangle her hair even though she's put it up in a braid.

There aren't many others out.

A teenage girl under a tree in the park, sketching out the building across and blinking in surprise when she catches sight of Pepper and Tony.

An old man taking a stroll that smiles and waves when they pass.

A bleary eyed boy setting up shop with a frown carved into his lips.

And even seeing all the others, Pepper can't help but feel a wonderful, warm sense of solitude as she and Tony walk, the world silent around them.

"It's nice out," Tony notes, closing his eyes and breathing in, out.

"Very," Pepper agrees.

He turns to her and traces his thumb against the back of her hand, something in his face fond, drinking in the sight of her, and she can't help but redden a bit like some schoolgirl.

"You know what's even nicer?" he teases.

"Dwayne Johnson," they agree in unison, and laugh at each other's ridiculousness.

"But you're even better than the Rock," Tony says, and that's all the warning she gets before he pops onto the tips of his toes and kisses her, a chaste, quick little thing before he rolls back to the balls of his feet.

Pepper huffs at Tony, at the boyish, crooked grin on his lips, the tilt to his head, and leans in for a closer, longer kiss that holds a bit and bears something a bit more solemn, less playful than the one before.

They don't so much draw away as float away, smiling sleepily at each other and moving on in mutual agreement, floating like leaves drawn by the wind along the cracked lines of the street.

Pepper likes this, she reflects. Sleepy mornings, quiet strolls, content to drink in each other's presence.

She glances at Tony, "Not going to tell me about some weird dream before we get attacked by aliens, are you?"

He laughs at her, loud and sweet and full, "You're better than anything that I could dream up."

"Cheesy."

" _Classic_."

She rolls her eyes at him, "It's really not."

"It _is_!" He insists, and dissolves into a little spiel, with hands waving and _okay, okay, but_ listen _, it's like this_ , and she sighs at him but it's alright because she appreciates the quiet, yes, but Tony Stark is made of sound and movement and it's moments with him in front of her, passionately talking about something, that she loves him the most.

The sun is bright, a sharp contrast to an old nightmare that drowns him in darkness, and Pepper is gone when he wakes, not uncommon considering that she's a morning person (un _real_ , he thinks) and he is most definitively a night owl.

It's another one of those days, he knows when he rolls out of bed and stares at the rumpled sheets with a bleary, overarching thought of _not today_ and leaves the covers as they are, too tired to make the bed today.

He should probably call someone, Tony muses, running over the five people in his head that he knows.

 _Pepper, business meeting today._

 _Rhodey, training the newbies._

 _Bruce, bothered him last week_.

(Oh, he knows that Bruce won't mind, that he'll be honored, really, but Tony still dislikes the idea of constantly bothering his friends with his problems, of shoving it in their faces when they never signed up for him being a mess.)

 _Peter, definitely not._

 _May…_

May?

 _May, civilian_.

She doesn't need to…

The Universe has decided to make up their mind for him, though, when he goes out and May and Bruce are already in his kitchen, drinking tea and chatting with each other.

May's hair is braided back, a curled, elegant thing with little detailing, and he knows that the kid must have done it, and Bruce is dressed… well, not _sharply_ , per say, he's not in a tux, but he's not exactly in his pajamas either.

"Alright," Tony freezes in his doorway and feels distinctly out of place with his bed-head and only wearing a shirt and boxers, "Why have you two decided to invade my home, looking all put together? That's not allowed, you know. Looking better than me. Like, only Pepper is allowed to do that. I swear. Why do you look so good. I'm jealous. And like, my face is awesome, but I'm in briefs and…"

"Good morning, Tony," Bruce cuts in, looking distinctly amused, and Tony shifts his gaze to May, who is being very unhelpful and hiding a smile behind a cup of tea.

Traitor.

"We thought that we'd come visit you," May says, smile warm, and _ugh_ , can't they make it easier to be grumpy? So unfair. Why are all of his friends nice. Ugh.

"That's lovely," Tony's mouth says before he can stop it, and he pauses, horrified, before correcting himself with a, "Why though."

They exchange amused glances (again! _Why_ ) and Bruce leans on an elbow, "Well, it wasn't to see your ugly mug, so it must be something to do with that personality of yours."

"Excuse you, my face is beautiful," Tony snaps his fingers, and the weight from the morning is gone already, leaving a lightness on him that pulls at the corners of his lips.

"I'm sure that it will be even more beautiful once you get your hair under control," May notes, laughing to herself when he squawks and pats his head (it's a futile effort, he needed a comb and gel, like, _yesterday_ ).

"Okay, but _seriously_ ," Tony moves over to take a seat next to Bruce and takes a sip of his drink, only to wrinkle his nose when he tastes it, "Oh, _Japanese_ tea, ugh, I thought you were out of your Oriental phase…"

He ignore's Bruce's laughing, "It's not a phase, _mom_ ," and continues.

"I'm, like, totally up for a random and spontaneous hike in the woods, but you two are dressed sharp and pretty. Are we trying to seduce a god in order to save the universe from combusting or something?"

Bruce looks down at his shirt, a bright blue thing with black lines cutting out little red and green shapes, an abstract form, and says, "This is what normal people wear outside, Tony."

"Um, no," he reaches for May's cup of tea, which she hands over with an obliging roll of her eyes, "Normal people wear yoga pants and t-shirts with lame puns, I am like 90% sure."

May raises an eyebrow, "You've been hanging out with Peter too much."

"I resemble that remark," Tony admits, taking a sip and fake gagging, "Ew, you're drinking _Bruce's_ tea? Brucey, you never let _me_ drink your fancy Japanese tea!"

"You hate Japanese tea," Bruce shakes his head, laughing, "You've always preferred stronger stuff from the southern half of Africa."

It's true, so Tony can't really argue, just incline his head and admit that Bruce has a point. "Okay, fine, so the kid dresses like he buys everything from a thrift shop…"

"…he does," May mutters, and Tony makes a mental note to rectify that.

"…but why is May's hair so nice, huh?"

"Peter likes braiding hair," May answers lightly, "And who am I to stop him from doing what he likes?"

" _Ew_ ," Tony repeats, shaking his head, "Fine, fine. But seriously."

"We thought about going out today," Bruce answers, shrugging, "So I'm wearing color."

Bruce doesn't _do_ color.

Bruce purses his lips together and adds, sighing, "My therapist said that I wore dark colors to blend in, because I wasn't used to living a life that didn't require me to be hard to notice, and so Thor decided we ought to go shopping and…"

 _Ah_.

That makes so much more sense.

Thor's sense of style is very… um… bright.

(Tony loves it. Thor knows that he loves it. But Tony wouldn't _wear_ it. There are not many that can pull it off as well as Thor can.)

"Who knew clothes could reflect your psychological state, huh?" Tony jokes, and Bruce rolls his eyes but smiles back. "Alright, alright, back on track. Destination?"

"There's this nice little flea market type place, an outdoor thing," May says, pulls at the chunky, brightly colored string of shapes on her neck, "It's where I got this."

Tony blinks at her solid, eggplant purple shirt, and wonders when he got infected by hanging out with Pepper and May so much that his first thought is _tastefully arranged outfit_.

Ugh. How awful. Next thing he knows, he'll be _conversing_ and _interested_ when the journalists talk fashion to him.

(This is not good for his rep. Well. Actually. It probably wouldn't be bad, it'd make him seem well rounded and… _no_. No. He's starting to sound like Pepper and the thought genuinely horrifies him.)

"Tastefully arranged outfit," his mouth says, and Bruce looks at him with unadulterated glee.

No.

 _No._

 _Nooooo_.

" _Tastefully arranged outfit_?" Bruce echoes, smile and eyes wide.

"Shut up," Tony groans, burying his face in his hands.

May pats his arm, sounding distinctly unsympathetic as she notes, "I suppose our shopping trips _have_ taught you something."

(This is despite the fact that May never _actually_ buys anything, just holds up clothes and makes thoughtful remarks. She mostly just sketches out the outfits that she likes and uses window shopping as an excuse to get Tony outside for his mental health. It's terrible, really. How dare she care about him.)

"Next thing you know, I'll be a wardrobe consultant," he shoots at Bruce, who muffles his laughter with a fist.

"Designing dresses for Zendaya…"

"…an original _Stark_ design on the runway today…"

"Showing at New York Fashion Week…"

"The next _Prada_ , I'm sure…"

Tony buries his face in his hands, "Can't I compliment a girl on her outfit without being harassed by you two?"

May and Bruce exchange gleeful looks before turning back to Tony.

"Do you want us to stop?" May asks sweetly.

"Yes, Tony, dear, do you want us to stop?" Bruce asks, wide eyed, smiling.

He hates them.

"I hate you."

"We love you, too," Bruce slings an arm over Tony's shoulder, "So, flea market?"

Tony grins crookedly, "Sure. Why not?"

The flea market was a roaring, living place, the bustle of the streets and the clanging of wind chimes chasing Tony, enticing him to examine the newest curiosity.

He loved it, with its bright colors and its cheerful people, and May and Bruce had been wonderful.

But now he's tired, and Rhodey seems to be able to tell as he flops down next to him, pressing his head on top of Rhodey's shoulder and closing his eyes.

"Rough day?" Rhodey hums, carding his fingers through Tony's hair as he flips absent-mindedly through a book.

"Fun day," Tony corrects, "Just a bit tired, is all."

Rhodey hums his agreement, and Tony falls asleep to warmth on his side.

He wakes with a hitching breath and his mind swims as he pulls a pillow to his chest, folding over it, eyes squeezed shut as FRIDAY's dim voice registers _is there anyone that you want me to call?_

Tony drowns in the memory of a pleasant smile, gritted teeth as he tells Yinsen, _no he won't_ , rough hands and his hands are dry but his face drips…

"Look at you, Tony," Bruce's voice is quiet by his side, the voice is there but no contact, "This is the first you've had in _months_. You're getting better."

"Not helpful," Tony grounds out, though it is, in a way, knowing that he's doing better, that he isn't a complete failure.

( _But he is, Jericho booms behind him and he staggers forward a step, voices shouting and he dimly makes out the scream of_ Jericho, Jericho, _please, Mr. Stark, it's not a request…_ )

"What will be?" Bruce asks, though he already knows, because Bruce is thoughtful like that, calm despite the fragility of his gentle patience.

Tony shakes his head, because he doesn't know, because he has mostly discarded nightmares of ash and space and being stabbed by his own blade, because he is learning to get over New York, choosing to die as JARVIS says _call did not connect_ , he is learning to get over these ( _because of therapy_ , a voice that sounds suspiciously like Pepper says, clear and somewhat smug), but he rarely dreams of Afghanistan.

Which.

Odd, really.

But he doesn't have as much PTSD from it, maybe because he didn't have peace and quiet after that, didn't have time for contemplation, so any possible PTSD was just sort of drowned out in a sea of _Iron Man, Obadiah, duty, Avengers_ , things that he needed to do.

Bruce sings through the Beatles' _Yellow Submarine_ , then moves on to _Youngblood_ , then that rock and roll cover of _Beauty and the Beast_ that Tony had liked, recycling through songs until Tony hesitantly joins in, breath cooling down a bit as he tries to concentrate on keeping the tune.

When they finish the song, Bruce eyes Tony hesitantly, and Tony is quiet, thoughtful.

"Thanks," Tony says.

"Therapist trick," Bruce tilts his head to the side, acknowledging the thanks.

Ah. "Interesting," Tony muses, but doesn't chase after it, too tired to.

Bruce eyes Tony curiously, "I haven't seen you like that before."

"Like what?" Tony asks. He's wrung out, a sort of weariness that sinks to his bones and winds around his skull in a dim fog.

Bruce waves a hand, clearly trying to think of the word for it, "…catatonic, I suppose."

"Oh," Tony closes his eyes, "Makes sense, I guess. It was a different… it was a different sort of thing."

"Ah," Bruce leans back. Swings his legs in the air a bit. Softly, "We can go watch a movie. I think that I have some chips in the cupboards."

Tony draws his teeth against his lower lips, and, shakily, "I want to go to the lab."

Bruce sends him a look so severe that Tony has to look away, voice sharp but nonjudgmental as he asks, "Do you think that you can handle it?"

Tony closes his eyes and thinks, really thinks, of blood and sweat and music turned up loud and Pepper's shout _when was the last time you ate_ and he _blanks out_ , and answers honestly, "No. But I want to go."

Bruce stares at his hands, like they hold the answers, a crease to his forehead and eyebrows drawn together before he raises his head and asks, "FRIDAY, is that okay?"

"It is not recommended," FRIDAY answers crisply.

"I don't have to stay here," Tony says through gritted teeth.

"No," Bruce agrees, "But you don't have to go there either."

Tony folds, fingers curling on the sides of the pillow, eyes closing, the curve of the bridge of his nose slotting neatly on top of the pillow, and he says, "I don't want to self-destruct."

Bruce is silent.

"It makes me feel better to build," Tony mumbles, "To _do_ something."

Bruce is silent.

Tony is silent.

It stretches until he wonders if Bruce is no longer there but when he looks up, Bruce has acquired a book and is flipping through it with a detached sort of interest.

"Tony," Bruce says when he catches sight of Tony, a quiet little thing to ground him.

"Jolly Green," Tony tests out a smile.

Bruce's shoulders unwind a bit. "Plans?"

Tony curls a bit more into himself, closes his eyes, and tries to think of what Pepper would say.

"…how about a therapy appointment?"

"Afghanistan was…" Tony tries to think of the right words to say as he twists the Rubix cube again, "…my origin story, I guess. You've heard of it, I bet. I got captured, built Iron Man, escaped, and then the whole Iron Monger debacle happened."

It still hurts to think of Obadiah, of trying to be better and failing at every turn.

"You said that you had nightmares?" Fengchi asks. "Any ideas on why you have them?"

"I've talked about every other traumatic event and insecurity with you except for this," Tony rolls his eyes, tossing the Rubix cube in the air and catching it with a decisive twist. The colors align and he puts it back on Fengchi's desk with a sharp _twap_. "Maybe it's because of you."

Fengchi's lips twist in a small smile, "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Not flattery if it's true," Tony winks.

Fengchi laughs at him, shaking his head, and Tony grins, smug. "Come on, Tony, I'm a therapist, not a miracle worker."

"Tomato, tomato," Tony waves a hand flippantly, "C'mon, man, give yourself some credit."

"There is credit and there is simply lying," Fengchi raises an eyebrow, "You're deflecting again."

"Right," Tony exhales sharply, "Sor—thank you for your patience."

Fengchi's lips twitch a bit, likely amused by the formality that's typically unlike Tony, but he says nothing.

Tony picks up a bouncy ball from the little jar on the counter and throws it up and down, watching it's little parabola, and then huffs, "Afghanistan doesn't feel like fear. At least, not in the way that the others do. New York made me afraid of another invasion. Thanos made me afraid of an enemy that I couldn't beat, and of losing people. Everything that happened, it was me being afraid of it happening again. But Afghanistan isn't like that. I know that Afghanistan will never happen again."

The unspoken question hangs heavy in the air.

 _Then why are you having nightmares about Afghanistan?_

He thinks it over in his head, though he's already thought of it, thought and thought and thought until his brain felt like it would burst and he had pinpointed the reason.

"Afghanistan reminds me of what I was," Tony closes his eyes, "Of what I could be, again. And I get it, I do," the ball drops and he stares at his hands, "It's my choice, and I've built a habit of my life now, I'd have to actively choose to be the person that I was, and it's not likely to happen. But it makes me afraid, of screwing up so badly, of actively doing bad for the world and choosing not to think when I'm fully capable…"

And the office is _silent_ …

And he echoes Natasha's words, "I've got red in my ledger."

Fengchi's stare is harsh, something that sweeps over him and makes it hard to look away, "All I see is black."

Tony is silent.

"You've made so many advancements in science. Clean energy. Medical advancements. Protection. You've helped with diplomacy, talked so much about unity between people with powers and those without, you've discussed all these things…"

"I made Ultron."

"It doesn't matter who you used to be. What you used to do. What matters is _now_ , and right now, all I see is a good man."

"That's not me. That's the Captain," his words sound distinctly bitter.

"Can't you both be good men?"

Tony draws in something sharp, quick, and says, "I'll think on it."

Fengchi dips his head in acknowledgement, "So I was talking to Peter about an origami class the other day, and he wanted to ask you about it…


	13. Chapter 13

He leans back, wrists aching and back stiff from hunching over the computer, text from the program automatically saving as he minimizes the file.

Bruce, who has perched on the edge of the table, patiently waiting for him, stands, a cup of cooling coffee in hand.

"How long have you been in here?" Bruce asks, resigned, as he hands the coffee over to Tony.

He sips the coffee. Oh. Not coffee. He sips the not-coffee again, and, disgusted, "Is this hot chocolate?"

"You don't need any more caffeine," Bruce says, shooting him a look that lies somewhere between stern and exasperated.

"That is both a lie and blasphemy against the great caffeine," Tony says, narrowing his eyes as he jabs a finger towards Bruce, "Heathen."

Bruce rolls his eyes at Tony's dramatics, but a small laugh escapes him all the same. "What have you been working on all day?" He hums as they tap up the stairs, Tony going slow and Bruce taking them two at a time.

"Just some upgrades for DUM-E," Tony bites back a yawn, "Nothing much, just cleaning up his ability to learn things. U kept bugging me about it, and DUM-E wouldn't stop squeaking about wanting to read books—which, by the way, he can't because he doesn't have fine enough motor control—so I figured that I'd let him access an e-library and Netflix, stuff like that."

"Not worried about him being corrupted by trash media?" Bruce raises an eyebrow, amused, as Tony sets his hot chocolate down to shrug on a jacket.

"I told him that he would be disowned if he even read the summary for Riverdale," Tony answers easily, "And I have one of those parent control things, so I can take away something if I think it's annoying."

"Riverdale?" Bruce's forehead furrows.

"A trash attempt at adapting the Archie comics to TV," Tony sighs, "All they really kept were the names, though."

"Ah," Bruce makes sympathetic noises, "Button your coat, Tony."

"It's not that cold," Tony protests.

Bruce makes a vague humming noise in the back of his throat, one that neither agrees nor is inclined much to fight over it, and before Tony realizes, he's buttoning Tony's coat for him, grumbling, "Why are you so stubborn?"

"Bruce," Tony whines, "I can do it myself."

"Then you should have done it before, when I told you to," Bruce answers sternly, "Honestly, are you trying to make life harder for yourself?"

"I'm not," Tony pouts, "It just happens, honest."

"And none of it your doing, I suppose?" Bruce raises an eyebrow, amused.

Tony bats his eyelashes innocently. "Why, Brucey-bear," he declares, scandalized, "I don't know what could have possibly led you to believe such a thing."

A laugh and a head shake from Bruce, the edges of his lips quirking up in amusement. "Alright. Boots."

"I mean, are boots really necessary or…"

Bruce shoots Tony a Look.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony sighs, and slips his boots on, "Yeesh, when did you become such a mom?"

"When I realized what a child you were," Bruce smirks.

Tony pretends to be wounded, Bruce laughs, and they tumble out into the streets of downtown New York easily, steps slow but light.

"First stop of the day?" Tony asks, linking his arm around Bruce's.

"I've been wanting to go to that new cheesecake shop," Bruce hums, "Feel up to trying it?"

Tony raises an eyebrow, "I thought you were lactose intolerant, so you couldn't eat straight up dairy products?"

"Mildly," Bruce agrees, tipping his head to the side. "Sorry, to say cheesecake shop isn't quite accurate. The shop actually sells Japanese cheesecakes, so it's more sponge cake than cheesecake."

"Mm," Tony makes a vague noise of understanding, and then, putting on a fake British accent, "Lead the way, then, good doctor."

Bruce shakes his head, "Please, Tony… never use that accent again."

"So mean to me!" Tony gasps, pressing a hand against his chest, "And here I thought that we were friends!"

"We are friends," Bruce agrees lightly, patting Tony's shoulder, "And we will continue to be so long as you never use that godawful accent in my hearing ever again."

"Excuse you," Tony huffs, "My accent is beautiful."

"And it will continue to be, I'm sure," Bruce says mildly, "So long as you never use it in my hearing, you're free to continue listening to it on your own."

Tony huffs, "I'm ahead of my time."

"No, I'm pretty sure you just have a terrible accent."

They continue this way, bickering and teasing, until they reach the cheesecake shop.

The inside is warm, comforting against the chill of the outside world, and the cheesecake smells divine. Bruce says as much to Tony, who laughs and echoes divine, vaguely amused at Bruce's word choice.

Tony gets a red velvet, pointing a fork at Bruce and citing "adventure! Don't tell me you came to a specialty shop just to get an ordinary, bland flavour?" and Bruce gets an original, partly because his tastes veer that way but mostly just to spite Tony.

"Nothing wrong with ordinary flavours," Bruce says, weaving through the crowd to find a seat for two. "Your tastes are a bit too exotic for me."

"It's red velvet," Tony dips his finger into the whipped cream and licks it, "Hardly ground-breaking."

"Then you can't tease me for sticking somewhere a bit safe," Bruce raises an eyebrow.

"Red velvet is, at least, a step up," Tony amends, shaking his head, "Honestly, Bruce."

Bruce shakes his head, Tony teases him for his choice of cheesecake, and they spend the rest of the evening like that, warm and light and probably with more pastries than is entirely healthy.

* * *

Tony is tired.

Very, very tired.

So, really, he can't be blamed when it is 2am and the first thing he zeroes in on when he steps out of his room is, "Why do you have Captain America pyjamas? I thought we had a thing!"

Peter, who is shovelling half a tubful of pistachio Ben & Jerry's, pauses, spoon halfway up to his mouth, and then, sounding almost insulted, he says, "First of all, I don't have Captain America pyjamas, though I do have a poster—"

"Why do you have a poster—"

"He's cool, Mr. Stark, don't worry, I still have the Iron Man sweater from Christmas—"

"It's so hideous but I love it—"

"Yeah, I know, anyways, these are All Might pyjamas."

Tony pauses. His brow furrows. His mind races, but he can't figure it out, so he feels he's totally justified when he mumbles, "On a level from Star Wars to your weird vine obsession, how weird is this going to be?"

"It's not a weird vine obsession—" Peter squawks indignantly, and Tony waves a hand dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, so how weird?"

Peter pouts, eats another spoonful, and then he mumbles, "It's from an anime."

"Oh pumpernickel," Tony rubs his face, "It figures. You know what, forget it. I don't want to know. Is there any more ice cream left in the freezer?"

"Mr. Stark," Peter says, sounding vaguely impressed but mostly horrified, "There is way too much ice cream left in the freezer. I don't understand how you have so much."

"I honestly don't remember either," Tony thinks that he was drunk, with Rhodey, and— yeah, actually, that basically explains most of the dumb but harmless stuff he's done in his life. "That is your first tub, then?"

Awkward glances up and sideways from Peter, and then, after a long, very suspicious beat of silence, "Yes, Mr. Stark, of course."

Which is a no. It's definitely a no.

Tony is not worried. He's not worried.

He is so fucking worried.

(Wait. No. He's not allowed to swear in his mind. Swearing in his mind translate to swearing with his mouth which translates to disappointed Pepper face and disappointed Pepper face translates to way too much paperwork which translates to—wait, why is he still following this train of thought?)

"Don't give yourself a stomach ache," he settles on saying, because if he gives Peter a lecture now, it'll only serve to bite him in the back when he inevitably eats five tubs and spends the rest of tomorrow morning puking it all back up.

"I won't," Peter says blithely, but after a moment, he pauses and frowns at his tub of ice cream. "Hey, Mr. Stark, since I have like, super healing and stuff, do you think that I can get brain freeze, or can I just eat as fast as I can and—"

"Please don't try," Tony cuts Peter off, holding up a hand and trying to remember himself to breath calmly. "Chri—erm, banana fudge, kid, let's not experiment with that."

"Okay," Peter says, but his eyes say I'll just do it when you're not around, then.

Tony narrows his eyes, "I mean it."

"Of course," Peter says, his tone innocent but his body language clearly saying haha I'm a ridiculous teenager what makes you think I will listen.

Okay, maybe not so mocking, a bit more of the I have a stupid idea and I'm too stupid to not do it even though I know that it's stupid type of gleam in his eyes. God knows that Tony has had that enough, driving Pepper up the wall, so he knows from experience that he isn't going to talk the kid down.

Well. If he's going to do it anyways…

"Don't blame me if you get a brain freeze," Tony warns Peter, "And Pepper doesn't hear a word, got it?"

"Of course," Peter agrees eagerly, bobbing his head in a quick nod.

"Fine," Tony closes his eyes, wincing a bit, "Knock yourself out."

Maybe it's super speed, maybe Tony's just old, but it feels like only a few seconds before Peter is tipping back out of his chair, two empty ice cream containers in front of him, clutching his stomach as he groans, ow, mistake, mistake, why did I do this, this was such a mistake…

And, because Tony's an as—jerk like that, he raises his eyes and asks, "FRIDAY, you got that on film?"

"Always, boss," FRIDAY answers, the perfect mix between exasperated and amused.

"Save it to my compilation," Tony says.

"What," Peter says, alarmed, from the ground. "Wait, what compilation, Mr.—ow—Mr. Stark! What do you—"

"Don't worry, kid," Tony grins, eyes gleaming, "I won't show it to anyone you don't know."

"That is not the point," Peter says, "Mr. Stark, what do you mean, compilation, what kind of videos do you have!?"

"Oh, you know, nothing too big…" Tony examines his nails, smirking, "Just a few videos. You know, like that time you saw a spider and jumped on the ceiling—"

"One time," Peter hisses.

"That incident with Hawkeye and the slime in the laundry machine—"

"We promised to never bring it up again—"

"You wanted to promise," Tony bites back a laugh, "I didn't promise anything."

A groan, he can't tell whether in response to Tony or because of his stomach, "You're terrible, Mr. Stark."

"And you're full of terrible ideas that look great on film," Tony shovels another spoonful of ice cream, "You need a hot pack or something?"

"I'm good," Peter sighs, "It's fading pretty fast, actually. I think that I can eat another tub."

"Oh, no," Tony frowns at Peter, "Don't even think about it."

Peter sighs, "Okay. Fine. Do we still have leftover ribs?"

"I'm pretty sure that we're not supposed to eat this late. Early. Whatever."

"Thanks for worrying, Mr. Stark," Peter's mouth says, but his eyes say I'm about to make yet another stupid decision and you cannot stop me.

Fine. Whatever.

Tony smirks, raising his spoonful of ice cream to his mouth, "Alright, kid. Just don't blame me if something happens."


	14. Chapter 14

He finds Pepper in the kitchen, eating peaches from a can, hair braided back and wisps flying everywhere. And damn, she's beautiful, but Tony knows Pepper and this is very clearly Super Stressed Pepper.

"Do I want to know?" He asks, sliding next to her, pressing his hand against her back. _Do you want to talk about it_?

"No, it's fine, it's just," Pepper jabs her fork into the can of peaches, looking somewhere between murderous and frazzled, "Christmas, you know."

"Right," Tony says and doesn't push further because, yes. Christmas. Nightmare, honestly, all the orders and such. "Do you handle that stuff?"

"Eventually?" Pepper stares at him, looking a few feet from crawling into her grave willingly, "I handle _everything_ , Tony."

"And we all love you for it," Tony agrees, curling his fingers around her cheek, "But I was thinking, maybe we could hire you some assistants? I mean, you only have one."

"Because only one was somewhat decent at doing what she was supposed to be doing," Pepper glares at the can of peaches as though it has personally betrayed her somehow, "Out of hundreds of candidates, _one single university student_ who knows how to do what she's supposed to be doing!"

"It can't be that bad…" Tony tries.

"Asked so many candidates, _what do you do if your plan fails_. Less than _half_ realize that they need to look at the evidence and revise their plan! And then, less than half of those people realize that when we say _you can take free courses that SI offers_ it means _go learn as much as you can_. And then—" She jabs her fork in and it snaps, white plastic flying around the kitchen, and Pepper looks ready to commit manslaughter.

"Oh-kay, then," Tony gingerly takes the can and fork from her hand, Pepper bowing her head as she lets it slip from her fingers, "Let's just take away these sharp and potentially harmful things from the very capable but overwhelmed and rightfully stressed CEO."

"Thanks," Pepper sighs, looking distinctly rumbled. "The other CEOs can't possibly deal with this much. Can they? They never _look_ tired."

"The magic of makeup and hiring assistants," Tony says breezily, though the adds a pointed look in Pepper's direction at that last little bit.

She makes a face at him as Tony hops off the counter and moves to stand in front of her. "You can't be serious."

"I was thinking," Tony doesn't move, offering Pepper a victorious grin when she hops onto his back, "That maybe instead of just letting whoever needs to send things out, we could actually make a division dealing with orders and such?"

"We outsource," Pepper plants her chin on Tony's shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck, "It's just that since the company we usually let handle things has other companies to work with—"

"They're also overwhelmed," Tony agrees. "Why are we outsourcing this kind of stuff? Nobody else does it."

"Because we found out that the division that was _supposed_ to deal with orders had half its members involved in an underground drug ring," Pepper buries her face in Tony's neck, smiling a bit when he yelps and looses his footing for a moment. "The guys who were _supposed_ to handle that kind of company corruption happened to be susceptible to bribery and I've been meaning to get around to it but—"

"Do you have a division that oversees the other divisions?" Tony hums.

Pepper pulls a face, "We do for safety," she mumbles, "And obviously accounting."

"Okay, yeah, but what about just progress and overall stuff?" Tony asks, shifting his grip on Pepper so that her legs sit comfortably on his hips instead of just his hands, "Then they can write up reports and send them to you. That way, you still know what's going on, but you're not super overwhelmed. And they can give suggestions and stuff, too, like tell you what part of the company they think needs work and what part feels kind of unnecessary."

Pepper squints at Tony, "It'll take work," she says, but steel is creeping into her voice and Tony grins, victorious. "And the idea is—rough, at best."

"Yeah, well," Tony huffs, "Obie took care of all the company stuff for me, so I never really figured it out."

"And that's okay," Pepper kisses Tony's cheek, "It's not a bad idea. I'll have to smooth it out, of course, but we should be able to have it all figured out by the end of the decade."

" _What_?"

"Rome wasn't built in a day," Pepper laughs at Tony's horrified expression, "C'mon, you think we can whip up an entire new division and rework the company's structure in a few days?"

"Um…"

"Yeah, no," Pepper shoots Tony an unimpressed look, "Alright, fine, I'm a bit calmer now. Where are you taking me?"

"Wherever you want to go, milady," Tony spins a bit, making Pepper tighten her grip around his neck. "Must… breathe… air…"

She loosens her grip a bit, and sighs, "Seriously, Tony."

"Alright, alright," he laughs at her, "How about sleep."

Pepper glares at him.

"Fine," Tony pouts at her, "I was thinking crepes?"

"I look like a disaster," Pepper mumbles, "I can't go in public like this."

Tony shifts a bit, thinking, and then asks, "Sunglasses and a baseball cap?"

"Oh my _god_ ," she shoves his arm a bit, leaning back so that her body's held up by her legs, "You Avengers and your terrible disguises."

"It _works_ ," he protests, and she doesn't even deign him with an answer, shaking her head and huffing.

"Fine," she says, finally, resting her head back onto his shoulders, "Crepes sound lovely."

He smiles at her, and she smiles back, wanly, and Pepper is still a little stressed but on Tony's back, her weight on his, she feels like she can handle it.

Or, at least, even if she can't, maybe it wouldn't be the end of the world.

* * *

"Think fast," is all the warning that Tony gets before there's the shock of cold as snow creeps down his neck.

"You'll regret that," Tony's mouth says before his brain can catch up, but thankfully his body seems to know what's up as he bends down to scoop up a handful of snow and prepares to launch it at Bruce, who's already bouncing away, laughing as he ducks behind a tree.

"I don't think that I will, old man," Bruce says, eyes sparkling as he hops on a bench and starts _climbing the tree_. What the heck. "Watch that you don't put out your back."

"Are you—" Tony storms over and jumps on the bench before chucking his snow ball thing at Bruce, who laughs as he raises an arm to protect himself. "Who's the old man? I'm not the one with grey hairs!"

Bruce gasps dramatically before bending down to scoop some more snow together, "Okay, that's it, _now_ you're getting it!"

Tony shoves some snow into another snowball, but doesn't manage fast enough, because then there's snow _everywhere_ , all over his head and face everything is cold and strange for a moment before he's overly aware, sharply, intensely aware that he's covered in way too much snow.

The sound of cackling comes from above him as Tony tries to shake the snow off, "You look like a dog that's been in the rain too long."

"First of all," Tony says, "I can't figure out if that's more offensive to me or to dogs. Second of all," He scoops together all the snow on his head— _why is there so fucking much_ — and, gathering it in his hands, chucks it at Bruce.

It pitifully hits Bruce's chest, where it's (unfortunately) covered by his jacket, and Bruce laughs at him even more.

"I hate you," Tony grumbles, "Get down here so that I can shove snow down your shirt."

"Tempting," Bruce drawls, high and mighty because he's on a tree, "But I think that I'll pass."

"Alright," Tony swipes at his nose, and accidentally gets snow on it. "Fine. It's on."

"Bring it," Bruce grins, legs hanging over the edge, grin crooked, eyes bright, "You seriously think that you can take me?"

"Trees run out of snow eventually!" Tony jabs a finger at Bruce, which is not super effective due to the fact that he has mittens on. "And _then_ you'll be at my mercy."

"Dream on," Bruce grins, and it soon turns into a slugfest, snow flying and screams along with it.

It's a full hour or so before they collapse back in the tower, shaking snow off their boots and hanging their coats on the racks.

Tony flops onto the couch while Bruce presses his cold fingers against the back of Tony's neck, Tony yelping and Bruce laughing before asking, "You want some hot cider?"

"Of course," Tony bats Bruce's hands away, "Take your demon fingers somewhere else, Frosty."

Bruce laughs and obligingly presses his fingers to his own neck as he moves into the kitchen, pulling out a saucepan and the apple cider from the fridge. "I haven't been in the snow for a while," he hums, pouring two cups of cider into the saucepan and turning the heat to medium.

Tony watches sort of lazily, sitting on his fingers and perched delicately on the arm of the couch so that he can still properly see Bruce, legs dangling and toes brushing against the floor. "Yeah?" he asks, cautiously.

Bruce rubs his hands together, pale fingers over red knuckles, and laughs a bit, "Didn't have a lot of money, and you need shelter when it's cold enough to snow."

"Right," Tony's voice says, faintly, and he stares at his knees while he tries to think of something to talk about that isn't Bruce's time in hiding from Ross.

Thankfully, Bruce doesn't seem too willing to dwell on it, laughing a bit as he says, "And of course, last year, I was out in space with Valkyrie. Not a lot of snow out there."

"I'd imagine not," Tony agrees lightly, grinning at Bruce, "I'm glad that you decided to stay here this year."

Bruce offers Tony a small smile, something sort of soft, light, "Yeah," he agrees, "I'm glad, too."

Steam starts to rise from the saucepan and Bruce reaches over to turn it off, crouching to retrieve two mugs from the cupboards. "You looking forward to Christmas?"

Tony shrugs, plays with his fingers and tries not to think about how silly it is to admit, "More the week after? That's when I get to spend time with you guys," And then, because that sounds so super cheesy and sentimental, he clears his throat and says, "Also, _not_ looking forward to the quote unquote official Christmas party."

Bruce laughs as he moves over to where Tony is, "I'm glad that I'm not you," he says, because he's terrible and unsympathetic like that.

"You're lucky that you're not me for Christmas," Tony agrees, groaning, "Any other day, though…" he wiggles his eyebrows, and Bruce shakes his head, laughing as he hands over Tony's mug of hot cider.

"I'm just fine being me," he answers quietly, and it's weird how warm that feels in Tony's chest, hearing that.

"Yeah, well," he blows on his cider and takes a cautious sip, "You're fine, I guess."

Bruce rolls his eyes and bumps his shoulder against Tony's, and Tony bumps back, and they grin at each other. Tony's nose and face is freezing but the mug is warm against his fingers and Bruce is by his side and it's cold outside and ridiculous but it's warm inside and despite everything, in this moment, everything is perfect.

* * *

He wakes to the smell of something burning.

For a moment, Tony lies still in bed, contemplating how bad it could honestly be, because, hey, there are no alarms ringing or anything, right?

Okay, _fine_. Yeesh.

He shuffles outside and squints at Rhodey's flailing form in the kitchen, unimpressed as he sighs, "Trying to commit arson or trying to cook?"

Rhodey, who's hovering over a steaming tray of _something_ on the stove, turns to glare at Tony. "Ha-ha. A guy tries to make you cookies and this is the thanks that I get?"

"I'd be more thankful if the cookies seemed less like poison," Tony pokes Rhodey's shoulder and peers at the cookies, which, to Rhodey's credit, don't actually seem all that burnt. "Are those gingerbread men?"

"Yeah," Rhodey offers his cookies a mournful stare, "Maybe the won't taste all that bad?"

Tony pokes at one and then quickly pulls it away, "Hot!"

Rhodey rolls his eyes and Tony pouts at Rhodey.

"Even if they taste terrible," Tony runs his finger under some cold water, "We can just add icing and then they'll taste fine."

"You just want more sugar," Rhodey laughs, and Tony offers him an innocent stare. "Yeah, yeah. I was planning to decorate them with you guys later, anyways."

"Ooh, let's start!" Tony bounces on his toes and then slings an arm over Rhodey's shoulders, "This is why you're my favourite."

"This being said by a married man?" Rhodey rolls his eyes, "Shouldn't we wait for the others to wake up before we begin?"

"It's fine, it's fine," Tony insists.

Rhodey raises an eyebrow, ever the skeptic, "You just want to decorate."

Tony smiles, caught, "I mean, we've got enough ingredients for a second batch, right?"

Rhodey grudgingly nods, "Yeah, we have enough for _many_ more batches."

"There you go, then," Tony grins, "Let's start decorating!"

"You're such a kid," Rhodey sighs.

"You love me," Tony blows him a kiss.

"Sure," Rhodey puts a hand on his hip, "But first—maybe change into something that doesn't require you to keep a blanket trailing on the ground behind you?"

Tony blinks. Looks down at his blanket. Up at Rhodey. Towards his bedroom, which is suddenly very far away. To the cookies, which are so close.

"But—"

"No buts!" Rhodey spins Tony around by the shoulders and plants both hands on his back. "Off you go! I'll set up while you change."

"Fine, fine," Tony grouses, "But don't start without me!"

"I won't," Rhodey says, "Now leave my presence!"

"Offended!" Tony laughs over his shoulder before disappearing into the bedroom.

By the time that Tony reappears, Pepper's oversized _Lilo & Stitch_ sweater hanging off his shoulders, the others have already woken up.

"Slow-poke," Pepper teases, the sleeves of Tony's _Nightmare Before Christmas_ hoodie rolled up to her elbows.

"Morning, Mr. Stark," Peter blinks sleepily at Tony, half-leaning against May as he hands Bruce the bowl of blue icing.

"Morning, kid," Tony says, taking his spot by Pepper and kissing her on the cheek, "Have we tasted Rhodey's terrible baking yet or are we making it look pretty first?"

"As if you could do better," Rhodey grunts.

Tony laughs, and this warm moment, suspended in time, is perfect.


End file.
